In Spite of Spite
by RafeDurk
Summary: Wickham is not satisfied with extorting a bribe from Darcy for marrying Lydia. In exchange for Darcy ruining his life, he intends to end Darcy's. Will Darcy recover? And how will Darcy's friends deal with Wickham now that he is tied to the Bennets?
1. Revenge and Results

**A/N: do not own. just a silly little story. this first chapter has been trying to insert itself into other stories where it doesn't fit, so i am giving it its own place in hopes that it will leave me alone.

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George Wickham was furious. Drunk and furious. How had he let himself be cornered like this? _I should have dropped the stupid child off in the middle of the city as soon as I had her money, and her…Well, and now I shall have to put up with her until one of us is dead._ He poured himself another glass of brandy – his 4th or 5th, he couldn't remember anymore – and drank it without really tasting it. At this point, Wickham probably would have drunk horse piss without noticing if somebody had said it would allow him to forget for just one moment that he was to be married tomorrow.

"Damn Darcy!" Those words had become a near-constant litany over the last week. "Damn!" he shouted again, and hurled his glass into the fireplace. It shattered with a satisfying crash, but the momentary pleasure afforded by this act of destruction was banished by the realization that he now had nothing to drink from. "Damn and blast!" he swore yet again, then grabbed the decanter, and resumed his drinking directly from the source.

Wickham collapsed into his chair still gripping the bottle. Darcy might have finally succeeded in ruining his life, but he had made sure that Darcy would not enjoy his victory. As the alcoholic haze pulled him into sleep, Wickham fingered the small package in his pocket and smiled.

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Darcy wanted to pace, he wanted to shout, he wanted to hit Wickham with every ounce of strength he possessed. He did none of these things, despite the fact that the infuriating man was going to be late to his own wedding. And he actually thought that ordering some tea for Darcy, which Darcy would have to pay for unless he missed his guess, made up for having to wait. Instead of venting his frustrations, he sat in the small 'parlor' of Wickham's rented rooms, and sipped some of the worst tea he had ever tasted.

Finally, Wickham emerged, dressed in his best coat – which Darcy had provided. It angered Darcy even more that Wickham still managed to look smug while fighting the effects of too much drink and on the day he was being forced into marriage. Darcy sighed and with some relief abandoned the terrible tea and led Wickham to the waiting carrige.

The wedding went smoothly, despite the fact that the Gardiners were very nearly late in arriving with the bride. Lydia was all smiles, and Wickham was as smooth and well-mannered as ever. The newlyweds left for Longbourn, and Darcy joined the Gardiners for dinner, after which he planned to return to his sister and guests at Pemberley.

The dinner was a subdued affair. The Gardiners were enjoying the relief from the trials of the last two weeks. Darcy was not in the mood for talk. Seeing Wickham always made him tense, and it was not unusual for the encounters to leave Darcy with a headache or a stomachache. Today, with the added stress of the wedding, Darcy had both, and he was finding it difficult to do more than pick at his food.

Despite the sparse conversation, the gathering was not awkward. All the parties involved took pleasure in each others company.

The Gardiner children joined them after the meal, and Darcy was content to listen to the eldest – a girl of eleven years – play on the pianoforte. The youngest, a child of two named after her cousin Jane, had taken a liking to Darcy during his frequent visits, much to Darcy's surprise. This afternoon settled herself in Darcy's lap and promptly fell asleep, drawing fond smiles from all the adults.

Despite his upset stomach and pounding head, Darcy found it hard to keep his eyes open. It would be rude to fall asleep in company and Darcy knew he should excuse himself, but he could not find the energy to stand up. He soon felt himself drift off, his last thoughts lingering on the lovely child in his lap and the soft music filling the room.


	2. Unpleasant Journeys

**A/N: Don't own anything created by Jane Austen (except a copy of the book). Enjoy.

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Georgiana leapt from the carriage and ran up the stairs. She had been unable to sit still the entire trip, fretting and fidgeting constantly to the consternation of her companion, Mrs. Annesley. She raced through the open door completely ignoring the housekeeper and butler, wild to find her cousin. As Georgiana entered the parlor, she collided with Colonel Fitzwilliam who was as anxious to talk with her as she was with him. Since receiving the express summoning her to Town immediately, Georgiana had felt adrift and helpless. Now, as her cousin and guardian embraced her, she finally felt some degree of safety. The tears she had been holding back all day finally found release, racking her body with huge, gulping sobs.

Colonel Fitzwilliam guided Georgiana to a divan and sat silently holding her as she cried herself out. When she had finished crying, they sat quietly for a few minutes, as Georgiana gathered herself to ask the question she had been wild to ask all day. "How…" she swallowed trying to steady her voice, "has there been any change?"

"No, and the doctor does not want to risk moving him yet. Go upstairs and refresh yourself, and we will go to see him. The Gardiners are expecting us."

Less than an hour later they were announced at Gracechurch Street. Mrs. Gardiner herself led Georgiana up to the rooms dedicated to Mr. Darcy, and sat with the girl as she suffered through another extended bout of tears. "He's so pale," she whispered, not wanting to disturb him. "How long has he been like this?"

Mrs. Gardiner used her own handkerchief to wipe the tears from Georgiana's face as she said, "He had dinner with us two days ago, and as we were sitting in the parlor afterwards he fell asleep. Or so we thought. Mr. Gardiner thought him merely tired, and we let him sleep for an hour or so, before attempting to rouse him. When we couldn't wake him we immediately called a physician and sought out Colonel Fitzwilliam."

Georgiana had taken a seat at the side of Darcy's bed and clasped his hand as if her grip alone could pull him back to consciousness. "Mr. Jones will be by tomorrow morning, and can explain matters more to you if you wish. But your brother is young and healthy, there is every reason to hope for a recovery." Mrs. Gardiner was not sure if Miss Darcy had heard her at all, so intent was she on her brother. She slipped out, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Anticipating Miss Darcy's preoccupation, Mrs. Gardiner had tea sent up to her guest. Still, she was not entirely surprised to find it untouched when she went back up to check on the young woman. Georgiana had not moved; she was still clasping Mr. Darcy's hand tightly staring at her face. "Miss Darcy, I have had the neighboring room made up for you." She was beginning to find Miss Darcy's lack of response troubling. "Miss Darcy?" she gently shook the girl's shoulder. "Miss Darcy, is there anything you require? Please, Miss Darcy, you really ought to eat something."

Georgiana looked up at this, but simply replied that she was not hungry.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam has had your things sent over. When you wish to retire, Molly can show you to your room."

"Thank you, Mrs. Gardiner. You have been very kind." And with that, Georgiana returned her attention to her brother.

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September 3, 1812

Gracechurch Street

London

My Dear Niece,

Please forgive the shortness of this note, but I find I must request your presence at Gracechurch Street immediately. On the day of your sister Lydia's wedding, we entertained a guest for dinner. He fell ill and has been unable to be removed to his own lodgings. Of course, we have invited his sister to remain here as well, thinking it might provide comfort to both of them. The poor girl, who is only 16, is highly distraught. She has barely eaten in two days and has been quite unable to sleep. None of her family is able to comfort her, and I thought she might benefit from somebody closer to her own age to confide in. I know enough of your kind nature to know you will not begrudge my request. Your Uncle will send the carriage tomorrow to convey you to use.

Your loving aunt,

Mary Gardiner

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If Elizabeth was surprised by receiving this entreaty from her aunt, she was not unwilling to comply. Her aunt and uncle had endured much to bring about Lydia's marriage, not least of which was having to put up with Lydia herself for the two weeks between her discovery and the wedding. Also, just before the letter had arrived Lydia had just mentioned that Mr. Darcy had been at her wedding. Elizabeth had been intending to write a letter requesting an explanation, but a personal conversation would serve much better. She hastily informed her parents of the request and the immanent arrival of the carriage. They were surprised, of course, but impressed upon them the urgent nature of the request. She quickly set to packing. The carriage arrived just before dinner, it was packed while Elizabeth made a hasty meal, and she was soon on her way.

Elizabeth arrived at Gracechurch Street in time for supper. The Gardiners, of course, thanked her heartily for coming on such short notice, and insisted she refresh herself and eat something before being brought into the sick room. Mrs. Gardiner was extremely conscious of having deceived her niece, so while Elizabeth ate she sought to remedy the situation.

"My dear, I have something to confess to you."

"Yes, Aunt, please tell me. I am quite anxious to know how Mr. Darcy came to be at Lydia's wedding."

This brought her up short. "I…Lizzy, I thought you knew! We only agreed to his help because we believed you to be involved."

"Wait, Aunt, what are you speaking of?"

"Of Mr. Darcy discovering Lydia and Mr. Wickham, of course!" and Mrs. Gardiner related the whole tale. "But, Lizzy, that is not what I meant to confess to you. It is that you are acquainted with the young woman and her brother. It is, in fact, the Darcys."

Elizabeth had still been pondering how Mr. Darcy could have exerted himself in such a way, this last sentence was more than she could process. "I…uh, I mean…but, how?"

"He was, as you know, at Lydia's wedding, and accompanied us back to Gracechurch Street for dinner. While here he fell ill. Your uncle and I thought he had fallen asleep, but we were unable to wake him. He has not woken up since, and was feverish for a few days. The fever broke this afternoon, but the doctor has not given us much reason to hope. We have been trying to shield Miss Darcy from the worst of it, but she says she has no appetite, and has not been able to fall asleep without the aid of drugs, not a habit we wish to encourage. Mr. Darcy mentioned several times how Miss Darcy had been saddened by the abrupt interruption of your acquaintance. I thought, maybe you could calm her were Mrs. Annesley and Colonel Fitzwilliam failed."

Elizabeth hardly knew how to feel about this. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match, which she had feared to encourage as an exertion of goodness too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her -- for a woman who had already refused him -- as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He had, to be sure, done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement, she could, perhaps, believe that remaining partiality for her might assist his endeavors in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing, to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause of compassion and honor, he had been able to get the better of himself.

They might never be able to repay him for his efforts, but she could make a start by giving some relief to his sister. This thought fortified her to the task ahead, and she allowed her aunt to lead her to the sick room.


	3. Watch and Wait

**A/N: Thanks to my reviewers! I hope you continue to enjoy. All comments, advice, etc is welcome.**

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When Elizabeth entered Darcy's room, Georgiana was in her usual chair, holding her brother's hand and speaking softly to him. "Miss Darcy?"

The young girl's response was everything that Mrs. Gardiner had hoped for, and would have greatly gratified Mr. Darcy had he seen it. Upon seeing Elizabeth in the doorway, Georgiana voluntarily left her brother's side for the first time since her arrival, and threw herself into Elizabeth's arms. "Oh, Miss Elizabeth. It is too awful! I am so glad you are here!" she managed to say before dissolving into tears.

It was good, Elizabeth reflected, that her aunt had told her who the patient was. She was nearly overwhelmed as it was, if she had come into this room unprepared she did not think she would have been able to do anything but stare in shock. Elizabeth held Georgiana uttering soothing sounds until she settled down somewhat. She was glad for the moment to not have to speak, for she could not sort out her emotions on seeing the two Darcys. Miss Darcy was pale, and her eyes, red with crying, were rimmed with dark circles. Mr. Darcy looked as poorly as would be expected for a man who had been unconscious for four days, and Elizabeth was more affected by it than she had expected. Only by focusing her attention on attempting to calm the sobbing Georgiana was Elizabeth able to finally regain her composure.

Georgiana struggled to collect herself enough to explain to Miss Elizabeth that at least some of her tears were out of happiness. Since she had left school, Georgiana had not had any close female friends, and had dearly hoped that this role would be filled by Elizabeth. To find that Elizabeth had come all the way from Longbourn to comfort her, just following a distressing period in her family, touched the shy young woman deeply. In the turmoil of her emotions she could not find the proper words to express her gratitude fully, and had to settle for repeating "Miss Bennet, oh, I am so glad to see you here."

There was a comfortable divan situated next to the bed. It had been moved there shortly after Miss Darcy's arrival when Mrs. Gardiner realized that it would be difficult to convince her to leave her brother's side. The two young women seated themselves upon it, as Mrs. Gardiner quietly left the room. Elizabeth then gestured to the tray of food on the table next to them "Miss Darcy…"

"Oh, please do call me Georgiana."

"Certainly, if you wish, but only if you call me Elizabeth. Now, will you please join me in eating something?" Elizabeth indicated the supper tray once again.

"Oh no, Miss…I mean, Elizabeth. I could not possibly eat, but please do help yourself."

"Georgiana," Elizabeth scolded mildly, "you will be of no use to your brother if you make yourself ill trying to care for him. When he wakes up, he will not wish to see you so pale and tired. Please, do eat." With such exhortations did Elizabeth convince Georgiana to take some food. It was not nearly enough to make up for several days lack of appetite, but at least she had eaten something.

Elizabeth then focused her attention on her aunt's second charge, trying to get the girl to sleep without taking a draught. To that end, Elizabeth picked up a book off the table next to the bed. "This book looks much loved," she said, noting numerous bits of thread and scraps of paper marking the well-worn pages. She examined the title page, and discovered it to be a book of poetry, Paradise Regained_._

"Oh, yes, it has been our faithful companion for many years. My brother remembers Mother reading it to him as a child when he was sick. My father did the same for myself, and since his death we have frequently read to each other in times of trial." Georgiana blushed thinking of how she had not allowed the book out of her sight for weeks after Ramsgate. When she had recovered she said in a voice choked with emotion, "I have been reading it to him. I have marked his favorite passages are marked with thread, just as he marked mine with paper."

"Well," Elizabeth stated in a matter of fact voice intended to mask her own emotion; Paradise Regained was her favorite book to read when she was upset, "now I will read to you both." Elizabeth gave a small but genuine smile as she opened the book to a passage marked by both thread and paper and was surprised to find that it marked her own favorite. Elizabeth read excellently, and Georgiana relaxed as the familiar words washed over her. She allowed her head to rest on Elizabeth's shoulder, and the older woman gently stroked her hair as she read. Georgiana did relax in Elizabeth's presence, and might even have dozed off for a few moments, but she did not sleep much. Fear for her brother, and of the nightmares that had been haunting her dreams conspired to keep her awake.

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Despite the comfort that Miss Bennet brought to her new friend, over the next two days Georgiana continued to worsen. She ate only what was forced on her, and unless she was given a draught by the physician she did not sleep for over an hour at a time. She confessed to Elizabeth that she had been plagued by nightmares of her brother's death every time she slept, and the fear they engendered explained much of her wakefulness.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, too, was glad to see Elizabeth. He visited his cousins daily, but could not stay above half an hour. Still, he found time to thank Elizabeth for coming, and seeing to Miss Darcy. "She has been disconsolate, I hope the presence of a friend will give her heart." Elizabeth thanked him for his faith in her, assuring him that she would give what comfort she could.

For two days Miss Darcy was almost never seen outside of Miss Bennet's company. Most often the two could be found sitting in the sick room, with Elizabeth reading out loud, comforting her companion, or distracting her with descriptions of the antics of her four sisters. Tales of the chaos usually found in Longbourn during preparations for a ball and similar stories were nearly the only thing that could elicit a smile from Georgiana, and more than once she mentioned how she wished she had a sister. If she gave Elizabeth significant glances when she said this, Elizabeth wisely did not see, and Georgiana did not push the issue further.

On the sixth day of Mr. Darcy's illness – the second since Elizabeth's arrival in Town – Colonel Fitzwilliam, the Gardiners, Elizabeth and Mr. Jones, the Darcy family physician, had a short conference. Darcy was showing no sign of improvement, and if he did not wake soon, it was unlikely that he ever would. The Gardiners shook their heads sadly, for they had become quite fond of the young man. Colonel Fitzwilliam knew that this pronouncement had been coming – he had seen enough injuries in wartime to be a fair judge of them – but it still shook him deeply to hear it pronounced by the physician. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to steady himself.

Of the small group, Elizabeth was affected most strongly by the news, though she hid her reaction well. In the preceding two days she had finally begun to understand her own heart. Her reactions on seeing Darcy so ill while being unable to do anything other than sit by his side and comfort his sister, were too powerful to deny. She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was an union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved, and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance. But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what connubial felicity really was. Despite all that he had done to save her sister Lydia, she could not believe that he would wish to be connected to Wickham, even were he to recover. He would certainly go off and seek his wife elsewhere. But to think of him happy in marriage with another woman, though unpleasant, was not nearly as painful as thinking of his death. She was glad she had been seated when the physician made his pronouncement, as she doubted she would have been able to keep to her feet. She had no wish of letting the world know exactly how much she had lost her heart to a man who could never return the sentiment.

Mr. Jones knew that this news would be distressing, and had waited patiently while the four companions collected themselves. He then continued, "I am worried about Miss Darcy as well. When was the last time she slept?"

"I am fairly certain she has not slept through the night since she arrived," Mrs. Gardiner answered, turning to Elizabeth as she finished.

"I believe her to be afraid to sleep; she has nightmares of Mr. Darcy's death," Elizabeth added. Georgiana had told her the content of her nightmares in confidence, but as it was affecting her health so negatively, Elizabeth felt that this violation of the confidence was justified. "I have not seen her sleep for more than an hour at a time, and it is invariably fitful. It seems to leave her less rested than remaining awake at times."

"That is what I feared. In her current state, I fear any kind of shock could do her a great deal of harm." He did not mention the shock he expected was the death of Mr. Darcy, but it was understood by all. As he spoke, he rooted through his bag, and shortly produced a small bottle of laudanum. "If she does not fall asleep tonight, you must give her this. It is imperative that she sleep." He indicated a dose that would likely keep Miss Darcy asleep for twelve hours, then took his leave.

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked down at the bottle, "I wish it did not have to be done."

"It will be better for her this way," Mr. Gardiner said, taking the medicine and handing it to his niece. "We will take good care of her, sir."

Fitzwilliam glanced at his pocket watch, "Unfortunately, I must take my leave. I will come again tonight if I can. Please send word immediately should anything change."

"Of course."

Elizabeth took advantage of Colonel Fitzwilliam's departure to retreat up to the sick room. Georgiana's need for somebody to depend on was the only thing that had kept her tears at bay. Soon the two were seated once again on the divan, with Elizabeth once more reading from Paradise Regained hoping to derive as much comfort from it as it gave to Georgiana.

The evening came and Georgiana still had not allowed herself to fall asleep, even with Elizabeth's gentle urging. "I cannot," she sobbed, "can you not understand? When your youngest sister fell ill and you left Pemberley to be with her, could you sleep? Or when Miss Bennet was ill at Netherfield?"

Elizabeth betrayed none of the surprise she felt at these words. Of course Darcy would have had to give some excuse for their leaving so suddenly; that was not surprising. But Georgiana's mention of Jane was. That Darcy had spoken so much of her to his sister to tell Georgiana of her stay in Netherfield caring for Jane was the chief surprise. "Caring for Jane was not distressing. She was ill, but never did I fear for her life. As for my sister Lydia, the situation was much worse, especially since I was not there. And even when I arrived home, there was the frustration of not being able to help her in any material way. That is more akin to what you feel right now. Then, I think, sleep was harder. But there was much to be done in the house. My mother was so distraught by Lydia's situation that she required constant attendance, and my sisters too needed to be comforted. I think I slept because I worked so hard that I was too tired not to do so."

Georgiana considered this, "Yes, the helpless feeling is the worst of it. But what if he wakes and I am not here, or I am asleep and do not hear him calling for me?"

"You have told me often how kind he is to you. Do you really think he would begrudge you sleep and let you impair your own health were he able to protest? He could not."

"But, the nightmares…they," and she began crying again.

Elizabeth then handed her the preparation of laudanum mixed with some wine to mask the taste somewhat, "Here. I took the liberty of mentioning your nightmares to the physician, and he said this would help." _It is not precisely a lie,_ Elizabeth thought somewhat guiltily. "And I promise that I will stay with you here until you wake up again. If he wakes, he will not be alone."

Georgiana's eyes flicked between the drink, her brother's pale face, and Elizabeth's earnest, concerned one. "I suppose if it will keep the nightmares away. I am very tired." She paused then, considering whether or not to make a request.

Sensing her hesitation, Elizabeth asked, "What is it, Georgie? How can I help?"

The use of her childhood nickname relieved some of Georgiana's embarrassment, but her voice was still quiet as she asked, "Would you sing to me until I fall asleep?" She blushed furiously. "I have few memories of my mother, but one of the clearest of them is her singing me to sleep after a nightmare when I was about five years."

"Of course." And Elizabeth sat down on the divan. Georgiana drank the wine/laudanum mixture quickly, making a face at the bitter flavor of the drug, and then lay down, placing her head in Elizabeth's lap. Elizabeth stroked Georgiana's hair and began singing her favorite lullaby, one she had sung to her aunt's children countless time and had often imagined singing to her own children one day. She found the exercise soothing to her own nerves, and continued singing softly for some time even after Georgiana had fallen asleep.


	4. Suspicion

**A/N: Happy New Year! Enjoy. (Still don't own)

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Elizabeth had fallen asleep on the divan with Georgiana's head against her shoulder, but jerked awake, looking for whatever had disturbed her. There was little noise in the house, and judging by the darkness in the window it was well into night. Georgiana's drug-induced sleep was sound, so it was unlikely the girl had recently made any noises. After glancing around the room and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she decided that the noise had come from outside the house. It was at that moment that her eyes fell on Mr. Darcy. His eyes were open and staring up at nothing, his face had lost what little color and his lips were blue. "No!"

Elizabeth's involuntary cry startled her awake from her nightmare. She was indeed on the divan, but Georgiana's head was on her lap, not her shoulder. Afraid of what she would see, she turned her eyes to Mr. Darcy. His eyes were still closed but his chest rose and fell steadily, if weakly. She expelled her breath in a ragged gasp. If Georgiana's dreams were half as bad as what she had just experienced, she did not blame the girl for not wishing to sleep. Tears were streaming down her face, and her muscles trembled as if she had just run all the way up Oakham Mount. Seeking to calm herself once again, she picked up a book, and removed herself to the chair by the bed, leaving Georgiana alone on the divan. Though she eventually ceased crying, she found she could not attend the words in front of her, nor prevent herself glancing anxiously at Mr. Darcy repeatedly, assuring herself that he still lived. Once or twice she even allowed herself to reach out and touch his face, finding the sensation of the warmth of his skin more reassuring than simply watching his shallow breathing. Still she knew sleep would not come again on this night.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was true to his word, making an appearance late in the evening. He found a sedated Georgiana curled on the divan, while a red-eyed Elizabeth sat next to Darcy's bed with a book in her hand gazing into space. He cleared his throat delicately, and Elizabeth started, nearly dropping the book. "Pardon me, Colonel, my thoughts were far away from here."

"Not at all, Miss Bennet. I apologize for startling you. I hope your musings were on things happier than what is before us here."

"I am sorry to say that they were not, sir. I was pondering the cruel and unexpected turns that life will take. From happiness to despair in but a moment. A hopeless situation is resolved beyond anybody's expectations, only to be replaced by one even more desperate with even less hope for a favorable outcome." She sighed, "Forgive me. I do not know what has come over me."

"It is quite understandable."

The note of sympathy in the Colonel's voice raised a suspicion in Elizabeth's mind – she would not be expected to be overly distraught over Mr. Darcy, but if he knew of her sister's disgrace he might think that had something to do with her overwrought emotions. "Sir, may I ask you a question? Were you privy to the business that drew Mr. Darcy to Town away from his friends and family at Pemberley?"

Fitzwilliam hesitated, unsure how to answer. Darcy had been told of the elopement in confidence, and had insisted on having his involvement unknown to the Bennets. If Elizabeth did not know what had been done to bring the couple together, he did not want to be the one to tell her. If she did know, she might take offence at Darcy having told him.

Elizabeth watched the Colonel's confusion with some little amusement before deciding to relieve him of some of his embarrassment. "Let me be more clear. What I meant to ask was if you were privy to Mr. Darcy's actions on behalf of my family? As both guardian of Miss Darcy and a member of His Majesty's Army, I suspect your assistance would have been invaluable."

The tension left Fitzwilliam's shoulders, and he smiled wryly. "I don't know about 'invaluable' but I was able to assist my cousin in selecting the most authoritarian commander possible."

"I am glad to hear it. Perhaps you might tell me a little more of what he did, if you can. My sister Lydia betrayed Mr. Darcy's presence at her wedding then declined saying more as it was 'a great secret.' My Aunt Gardiner told me somewhat more of the generalities, but I would like to know more specifically what his actions were." She realized she was rambling. "Oh, that is not exactly right either! Forgive me, I am overtired and afraid I am not ordering my thoughts properly." She paused for a second, "Colonel Fitzwilliam," she began more slowly, "do you know of any activity that he undertook while assisting my family that could have led him to this state?" she indicated Darcy's prone form.

Understanding dawned on Fitzwilliam's face, and he was silent for a few minutes dredging the depths of his memory for details of Darcy's interactions with Wickham. "Since you already know some of the generalities, I will tell you this: most of what Mr. Darcy did on behalf of your sister was done in my company. The only actions I did not participate in were the meetings with your sister and your aunt and uncle. This included his private conferences with your sister and family as well as the wedding itself. That being said, he did tell me much of what happened on those occasions that I was not present. I can think of nothing that could have caused this that would not have affected me as well."

"Nothing accidental, you mean," Elizabeth said darkly.

Fitzwilliam's brow furrowed and his countenance darkened. "You think that he was…" he could not bring himself to say 'poisoned,' the thought was too horrible for contemplation. "No, you must be wrong. I could not believe even Wickham to be capable of such a thing."

"Colonel, after watching the comportment of my sister and her husband, I have resolved to draw no limits in the future to the impudence of an impudent man. Mr. Wickham's manners in company are certainly pleasing, and his smiles and easy address can do nothing but delight those who do not know what he is. But I watched him closely, and I am convinced from his actions that he is an exceedingly angry man."

"Did he say or do anything to harm someone in Hertfordshire?" Fitzwilliam asked, alarmed.

"No. I do not think anybody who did not know his history with the Darcy family would have noticed anything. But he spoke often of the living Mr. Darcy should have given him, and once he said that at least now he would not have to be plagued by Mr. Darcy any more. This was said while speaking of his new commission in the north, and everybody took it to mean that distance would bring relief. Thinking back on it now I feel there may have been a note of vindictiveness in his voice, but I cannot be certain. Perhaps I am only imagining it, because I wish it to be so; because I want there to be some hope." Elizabeth's voice shook slightly, and looked away to hide her tears, but Fitzwilliam – ever the gentleman – passed her his handkerchief and affected not to notice the tremor in her voice.

"I still find it hard to believe that Wickham could do such a thing, but you are right that it is an avenue of inquiry worth exploring. Memories cannot always be trusted, but right now we do not have anything else to hang our hopes on." Even Colonel Fitzwilliam was willing to grab any chance offered for his cousin. "I do not think it likely, though. I was present at all of Darcy and Wickham's meetings, and we never ate or drank anything. I do not wish to pain you by mentioning how your sister had been living, but the lodgings they shared did not excite the appetite. Still, it did not have to be done then," he lapsed into silence for a few moments, and Elizabeth let him think. He was in a much better position to investigate this possibility than she was, and certainly more knowledgable.

"I have to caution you, though," he spoke suddenly, as if he had reached a decision on the matter, "if it was indeed a poison of some sort, it is probable that very little can be done. Unless we know the exact compound, any treatment we try is as likely to harm as to help. Even when the compound is known, recovery is often contingent on prompt treatment." Elizabeth's face fell as he spoke, and he suddenly came to a startling realization: Miss Bennet appeared to be grieving as somebody in love might do. His heart softened at this thought. Darcy had suffered much when she refused him, and if he woke, having her there would be better than any medicine Mr. Jones could offer. If she did indeed now return Darcy's love, it would be cruel to deprive her of any hope. After all, she had thought of something that nobody else had. He sought for a way to provide comfort without unduly raising her expectations, "Nevertheless, I will speak to Mr. Jones tomorrow and mention this possibility. Perhaps he will be able to prescribe some course of action."

As expected, the next morning Mr. Jones could suggest no better course than to increase his efforts in bleeding Mr. Darcy. Colonel Fitzwilliam asked that nobody mention Elizabeth's theory to Georgiana, and Mr. Jones and the Gardiners agreed. Elizabeth privately thought that the colonel was underestimating his young cousin, and that she had a right to know what was going on with her brother, but deferred to his wishes as her guardian.

* * *

A few days before this, news of Darcy's incapacitation had reached Charles Bingley in Scarborough. Darcy had introduced him to Colonel Fitzwilliam several years ago and the two had become fast friends, thought not as close as Darcy and Bingley had become. The arrival of a letter from the colonel was not anything to engender concern on its own. This particular letter arrived one morning over breakfast, and Bingley nearly choked on his coffee while reading it. It was not the first time in his life, he reflected, that he had reason to be glad that his sisters did not make a habit of rising early – unless Darcy was in the house. As it was he only had to answer to his Aunt and Uncle Linville, whose house he was visiting. It would have been hard to miss Bingley's violent coughing over his letter, and the pair were now looking at him curiously. He made his excuses quickly, saying that a friend was in urgent need of his presence, and was on the road back to Town before his sisters had finished their toilette. He had left them each a short note of explanation, saying that a friend from his university days was ill, and had asked his assistance. He took care not to mention Darcy by name – he did not want his sisters to follow him. Privately, he admitted to himself that his presence could do little good, but he could not have stayed in Scarborough. If there was anything that could be done for his friend, he would be on hand to do it.

So it came about that midway through the morning after Elizabeth shared her disturbing suspicion with Darcy's cousin, a travel-weary Charles Bingley entered the Darcy townhouse to talk to Colonel Fitzwilliam. He found the colonel pacing Darcy's study and muttering oaths against Wickham, oblivious to his having entered the room.

"What has Wickham done to deserve your wrath in a time such as this?" Bingley asked, by way of gaining the Colonel's attention. He knew that Darcy did not like Mr. Wickham, and despite not knowing the specifics he trusted his friend's judgment. Still, with Darcy lying ill, he would expect Wickham to be far from Fitzwilliam's mind.

"Only that he could be the cause of it all!" Fitzwilliam shouted before realizing that he spoke out loud, or even to whom he was speaking.

"Good God! How?" Bingley looked quite startled by this answer, as could well be expected, but there was no chance that he had not understood what Fitzwilliam had said. The words could not be taken back now, so Fitzwilliam resignedly told Bingley the story. Needless to say, Bingley was horrified. "What is to be done?" he asked when the colonel had finished.

"I am going to start asking around among his acquaintances in Town, but I do not have much hope."

Now it was Bingley who was pacing, his face uncharacteristically serious. "You say Wickham is visiting with the Bennets?"

"What are you thinking, Bingley?"

"I am thinking of going directly to the source, Fitzwilliam. What better way to solve a problem." He stopped his pacing in favor of grabbing a pen and beginning to write. "I came directly here, so my baggage has not been unpacked. I will send an express ahead to Netherfield alerting them of my arrival and will follow it directly."

"I cannot stop you, but I would advise you not to go; it is not safe. If Wickham has sunk this low, there is no reason to think he would not become even more violent to protect his secret."

Bingley was quite determined, and would not be put off. As a compromise, he engaged to write to Fitzwilliam at Darcy's townhouse every evening, whether he had news or not. That way, he would know within a day if anything went awry. Fitzwilliam reluctantly agreed; Binlgey was his own master, and he had no authority over his actions. He settled for securing Bingley's promise to be cautious, and promising to write if he came across anything that could assist him in extracting the needed information from Wickham.

Bingley arrived only slightly later than his express, and unsurprisingly found Netherfield in confusion. With a firmness of purpose that had been lacking when he first took possession of the property, he set the housekeeper at ease saying that he regretted the necessity of putting such a strain on the house, but was confident that she would soon have everything in order. Such a compliment as that completely did away with any resentment she might have been feeling, and in a much improved mood, she redoubled her efforts to making sure Netherfield was fit for habitation.

Protocol would have Bingley wait for a visit from Mr. Bennet before visiting at Longbourn, but that would not serve his purpose now. Some thought was needed, however; his sudden arrival was sure to arouse speculation, and calling on the Bennets that very day would certainly require some sort of explanation. Bingley had pondered this the whole ride from Town. Now, standing in his dressing room shedding the dust of his journey, he was forced to admit that his first solution was the best one he had come up with: he would just state plainly that he had a matter of business to attend to with Mr. Wickham. It was not as if Wickham was in a position to deny an audience with him, and it would give him an opportunity to talk to the man in private – just what he wanted. Still, in cases such as this a letter would have been sent ahead of time. Well, he would just have to claim that the letter must have gone astray. His sloppy handwriting was well known in the area, and it was not hard to imagine that such a thing might cause a letter to be misdirected. It would have to do; his anxiety for Darcy's safety would brook no delay. Taking his hat, gloves and riding crop from his valet, Bingley purposefully strode from the room.

* * *

**A/N Take Two: Sorry, I couldn't resist sticking that first paragraph in there. I doubt I fooled anybody, but now maybe Elizabeth will be a little more sympathetic towards Georgiana's nightmares.**


	5. Return to Netherfield

It was not without some trepidation that Bingley dismounted in front of Longbourn. Confronting Wickham was enough to cause some concern to any reasonable man, but he would also likely be faced with Miss Bennet, especially if Mrs. Bennet had any say in the matter. Now that he understood that she was indifferent to him – acting only at her mother's behest – he did not know how he could face her. If it were not for his earnest desire to be of use to Darcy, he would probably have fled at this point. But Darcy has a real and urgent need of him, so reminding himself of his purpose and affecting a confidence he did not feel he entered the house.

He was shown directly to Mr. Bennet's study, which was both a blessing and a curse. This relieved him of having to face the ladies of the house, but meant that he needed to give his explanations directly to a man who he strongly suspected was more clever than himself. To his relief, Mr. Bennet appeared to accept Bingley's excuse of wanting to speak to Mr. Wickham on a matter of business. There might have been the light of mischief in his eyes when he directed Bingley as to where his daughter and son-in-law were walking, but Bingley was too focused on his objective to notice.

After thanking Mr. Bennet, Bingley reclaimed his horse from the groom and set out in the direction Mr. Bennet had indicated. His whole mind was anticipating his meeting with Mr. Wickham, causing him to not notice the small party until he was almost upon them. Therefore he had only seconds to prepare himself to meet not just Mr. and Mrs. Wickham, but Miss Jane and Catherine Bennet as well. He hardly knew where to look – every time he forced them away, his eyes returned to Miss Bennet, finding her every bit as beautiful as he remembered – but he must concentrate on Wickham. The man was dangerous, and Bingley could not allow himself to be distracted. But Miss Bennet was so beautiful, even if she was flushed and would not meet his gaze. So like a lover. No! She did not love him; it was just that her gentle nature made it appear so. Bingley shook his head, trying once again to focus on the task at hand, and dismounted.

* * *

Jane had noticed Mr. Bingley approaching them at least a minute before his joining them, but despite her advantage over him, she was still at a loss as to how to handle the situation. She blushed and fell silent, not that anybody took notice. Lydia was, as usual, dominating the conversation with tales of her time at Brighton; Mr. Wickham was laughing and indulging his wife while actually saying as little as possible; and Kitty was hanging on Lydia's every word, every bit as envious as Lydia could have wished.

Oh, how Jane wished she had Lizzy with her. Lizzy would tease her about her silliness until she forgot all about the awkwardness of meeting once again with the only man she had ever loved. Her other sisters could not be counted on to be delicate in such a situation, but Lizzy always knew just the right thing to say to turn the conversation and forestall awkward moments. It could not be helped, Mr. Bingley was nearly upon them, and Jane was left to console herself. She did her best: _It is not as if he will wish to speak with me – if he desired my company he would have called on me when I was in Gracechurch Street. He will likely make his bow and move on. Undoubtedly he has important business that drew him back to Netherfield, and will wish to attend to it immediately._

She watched him ride up, and was surprised to note that his distraction was such that he had not yet become aware of her party yet. Given the amount of noise Lydia and Kitty were making, his thoughts must be of a serious and engaging nature. Jane tried, and failed, to stop herself from noticing what a fine horseman Mr. Bingley was. She also failed to ignore how well he looked when riding, and how the blue of his excellently tailored coat brought out his eyes. There was one benefit to these failures, however; they meant that she was observing him at the moment when he finally noticed their proximity and could see quite clearly the change in his countenance when his eyes met with hers: his face went pale, and his eyes darted about as if he were looking for a way to escape the meeting. It was worse than Jane had imagined! She had resigned herself to the thought that she was mistaken in his attachment to her, but surely this was proof of much worse. Mr. Bingley not only failed to return her affection, but he had noticed her attachment to him and did not welcome it. That must have been why he left, Caroline was right to try and soften her disappointment in her early letters. Mr. Bingley was too well-bred to have confronted her, so he just removed himself from her presence to prevent her embarrassment. Her mortification was extreme, and she locked her eyes on the ground as he came to a stop in front of them and dismounted; she could not even bring herself to glance up as she greeted him. If only she could find an excuse to leave, but that raised the possibility that he would offer to accompany her so that she was not alone; she did not think she could stand that.

Full of her own importance as a married woman, Lydia once again took charge of the conversation pertly demanding Mr. Bingley's congratulations, and speaking at length of her time at Brighton. Although her chosen topics were hardly ideal, Jane was disinclined to turn the conversation towards more appropriate matters. It was easier to just let Lydia chatter than to risk speaking herself. However, Lydia soon found Mr. Bingley a poor audience; he did not laugh at the right spots and instead of attending to her he occupied himself staring at her husband and her eldest sister. Giving up on Bingley – he had never really known how to flirt properly in her opinion – Lydia returned her attention to Kitty, who could always be depended upon to be enthralled by whatever she had to say.

Jane now found herself trailing behind her sisters walking between Mr. Bingley and Mr. Wickham, and quite uncomfortable with the situation. Neither man spoke, and the silence was becoming oppressive. Seeking some relief, she finally forced herself to speak though still staring at the ground as if she expected it to disappear the moment she looked away. "What brings you back to Netherfield, Mr. Bingley? I thought I had understood from my sister Elizabeth that you intended to visit relations in Scarborough." Instantly she regretted her words, thinking they would indicate an undue interest in his actions on her part, but before she could soften their meaning he began to speak, "I _had_ gone to Scarborough, it is true, but I received an urgent summons back to Town. Once there, I found I had business to attend in Hertforshire as well." Bingley now turned slightly to address Wickham, "Mr. Wickham, I had actually desired to seek your advice on something, if you will be so kind as to oblige me. I called for you at Longbourn, and Mr. Bennet was kind enough to direct me here. I hope you do not mind my intruding on your walk, but I hope to conclude my business here and return to Town as soon as possible. As the militia have left Meryton, you are the only person in the area with knowledge of the military life." Bingley was far from a practiced liar, but this statement seemed to pass muster.

_More proof that he does not intend to renew his addresses to me. He wants nothing more than to be out of my company,_ thought Jane.

"Certainly," Wickham said, bowing his acquiescence, "what would you like to know?"

At this invitation to speak Bingley demurred slightly, not wishing this particular conversation to be overheard, "I would not wish to bore Miss Bennet with such things."

"Oh, do not trouble yourselves over me," Jane said quickly, glad for an excuse to leave Mr. Bingley's company and rejoin her sisters, "I can amuse myself with my sisters' company and the beauty of the day. I will leave you to your business."

Bingley slowed his pace, allowing Miss Bennet and her sisters to increase the distance between the two small groups. Glancing at Jane's retreating figure he felt his heart sink further. How eager she had been to leave his company! It would not due to dwell on such things. Not now that he was face to face with Darcy's would-be murderer. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the coming battle of wits.

It should be noted that Charles Bingley was no stranger to anger. For the most part he was a most amiable gentleman, and few people ever saw him show displeasure of any kind because it took a great deal to upset him. He was slow to anger, and quick to forgive in all cases but one; he was as fierce and loyal a friend as Darcy. Slights to his family and friends were not tolerated, and could only be forgiven once all the damage done was reversed and the cause of harm removed. At this moment, Bingley was as angry as he had ever been. This is not to say that he was not anxious, or had lost control of his words or actions, or that he desired – as some men do when angry – to commit some act of violence. Anger merely gave Bingley directness when at other times his address would be circumspect and polite, conviction when he might have been uncertain, and tenacity when he would have been compliant (*).

"How may I be of service, Mr. Bingley?" Wickham was smiling politely, expecting some amusement from the coming conversation. Perhaps fortune would smile on him and Bingley would be looking to purchase a commission for the support of a natural son, or to bury some other scandal within his family. Wickham's silence on such a topic as that might at a later date be converted into a tidy sum.

Bingley, however, was not of a mind to wait for the answers he desired and went directly to the point. "I want to know what poison you gave to Darcy, how it was administered, and from whom you purchased it."

Had Colonel Fitzwilliam been present, Wickham might have been prepared for this line of questioning – he was practiced at most forms of deception, and in such a case might have made a passable answer. Unfortunately for Wickham, however, he had known Bingley mostly through the reports of other officers and the general gossip of Meryton and his knowledge of the man before him could be summarized thus: Bingley was a kind man disposed to be pleased with everything about him, and never known to find fault with anything. Such an address from this quarter was so unexpected that at first Wickham could not find his voice, but eventually forced a laugh. "What kind of joke is this?" he exclaimed. "If you mean to be have a laugh at my expense I must say your choice of topic is in very poor taste."

Wickham's hesitation was all the proof Bingley required to press the matter further; he was now certain that Miss Elizabeth had the right of it after all. "Do not treat me as a simpleton! I asked you a question and make no mistake, I will have an honest answer from you."

Feigned innocence had not made much of an impression, so Wickham tried blustering and threatening. "And I say that your answer is that I know nothing of Mr. Darcy's death. Futhermore, should you insist on continuing this line of questioning I will have you brought up on charges of slander."

Interesting. Wickham thought Darcy dead! Maybe he could use that to his advantage. Storing that thought away, he continued his attack. He spoke quietly and all but his most intimate friends would have not thought him capable of the level of menace that now colored his tone, "I mentioned nothing of Darcy's death. As for the matter of slander, I should very much like to see you try, Wickham. I have the full backing of the Fitzwilliam family in this," which was nearly true as the Colonel would certainly support him, "and Lord ---- will bury you in legal costs long before you can even bring the matter to court." which was probably not so true, but caused Wickham to blanch most satisfactorily. "Now I will ask you again: what drug was it, how did you give it to him, and where did you acquire it? Right now there is considerably more interest in stopping the man who sold it than in you. Not that you will be held blameless, not even Lord ---- can arrange for that, but if you give evidence in this matter you at least will not hang for your crime, and may even hope to see daylight again before the end of your natural life." Bingley did not know whether to be more pleased or ashamed that the lies came so easy. He had thought out what he would say in some detail, concocting several stories to use depending on the situation, but he had expected to have some difficulty in maintaining the pretense. Mentally he shrugged off the concern, relegating it to some future hour of contemplation, and waited for Wickham's response to his outrageous tale.

Wickham felt himself go cold as Bingley's speech progressed. This was not the kind man everybody had spoken of. But there was no proof – there could be no proof – and he would not admit to anything under the pressure of just one man. But the Fitzwilliam family was indeed powerful, if it was true. No, it couldn't be, surely Colonel Fitzwilliam would be here if it were so. Or had they thought to unnerve him by sending somebody he wouldn't expect. He made an attempt to look patronizing, changing his tactics once again. "You are obviously distraught over your friend's unexpected death. Though Mr. Darcy and I have not been on friendly terms for some time, I am very sorry for your loss. It is tragic when one is taken so young, and it is natural for you seek a reason, but it is all in the hands of Providence. Do not look for the hand of man where there was only the hand of God. Do not worry, given my history with Mr. Darcy, it would be ungenerous of me to take offence at your seeking to lay the blame on me. My speaking of slander was rash, I beg your forgiveness, however I will tolerate this conversation no longer." He moved to rejoin the ladies, now some 50 yards ahead of them, but was brought up short as Bingley brought his riding crop down in front of his face, just inches away from his eyes.

Bingley was nearly fuming with anger to hear Wickham blaspheme in such a way. 'Hand of God' indeed! Did the man truly think himself as suitable a judge of life and death as the Almighty? With some effort, he forced himself to speak calmly. "I have not finished yet, Mr. Wickham."

"But I have," he pushed the crop out of his way and moved forward only to have Bingley step directly in his path setting his feet firmly. Bingley would not let this insolent man get the better of him. Darcy would not die because of a failure on his part. "I care not if you think you are finished; you will answer to me or you will answer to a magistrate! Make your choice now."

Unlike Bingley, Wickham _was_ in possession of a violent streak. He had acted nearly civil at first, but his temper was rising and he found himself caught up in the moment, completely oblivious to drawing the attention of his wife and her sisters. "Do not give me idle threats!" he retorted loudly, "No magistrate would hear your case!"

Bingley had been observing Wickham carefully throughout the entire exchange, and a ghost of a smile now flitted across his face. The more angry Wickham became the less carefully he maintained his usual façade; anger made him careless. If he became angry enough, he might make the mistake that would prove his undoing. With this goal in mind, Bingley turned from threats to taunts, "Idle threats indeed," he scoffed. "Do you think me ignorant of your pecuniary transactions with Darcy or of your past misdeeds? I did not take you for such a fool."

"I am not such a fool as that, _Mister_ Bingley," he sneered. "Darcy was too proud a man to trust another to know his concerns."

"You are more dim-witted even than I imagined." It was time to play on the fact that Wickham believed himself to have succeeded in killing Darcy, "Even a private man will put things into his will that he will not share during his life." He lowered his voice, hoping this final deception would pay for all. "He has passed to me the receipts for your debts at Meryton and Brighton. I now hold your debts. You _will _answer to me, or you will suffer for it."

Bingley was right in one regard; Wickham's tenuous hold on his self-control broke. It was unfortunate that Wickham's slip did not cause him to suddenly divulge the information Bingley sought - it had quite a different effect. With vicious snarl Wickham attacked.

* * *

* - I always pictured Bingley with a bit of a stubborn streak that you don't see because it's just so darn hard to get him upset to the point where he feels the need to be stubborn. I hope you enjoy watching him assert himself as much as I enjoyed giving him the opportunity to do so.

**AN: Mostly filler, but the story has to move forward somehow. School starts on Monday, so I'll try to have the next chapter written and posted by then so you don't have to put up with this cliff hanger too long. Oh, I also noticed a mistake with the name of the doctor in the second chapter. It is fixed now. Sorry if I confused anybody there's only supposed to be one doctor character.  
**


	6. A Bit of a Brawl

**AN: As promised, a quick update to resolve the cliffhanger moment. School starts up again tomorrow, so updates won't be as frequent. Especially since my posting caught up with my writing. Thanks to all my readers and reviewers!

* * *

**

Kitty had been the first to notice the disagreement between the two men behind her, and straightaway mentioned it to her sisters.

"La!" said Lydia, "That is nothing. Why some of the scraps that I saw in Town…" she began, but was stopped by Jane.

In once glance Jane had seen enough to worry her. Both Mr. Bingley and Mr. Wickham were out of countenance and Mr. Wickham looked quite agitated. She had never before seen such a stern look in Mr. Bingley's eyes, and it frightened her. "Hush, Lydia! Kitty, run home to Papa right away. Tell him to send Mr. Hill's boys to us. Hurry!"

Kitty was alarmed at Jane's seriousness, and took off immediately. They were not far from Longbourn, and Jane hoped Kitty would be able to run the whole way, for as she had spoken she had seen Wickham grow even more restless. Did Mr. Bingley not see the look of hatred in Wickham's eyes? What could they be discussing? Vaguely, she registered that Lydia was still talking, but the words passed over her. "Oh!" she gasped as Bingley moved suddenly bringing his riding crop down within inches of Wickham's face. She had thought at first Bingley meant to strike Wickham, and though it was clear now that he had not intended to do so, her knees still trembled beneath her.

Wickham was shouting now, and she caught the word 'magistrate,' but could make no sense of it. Her entire being was focused on Bingley and Mr. Wickham, and she had not even noticed that after Bingley's aggressive move Lydia had given a small shriek and followed in Kitty's footsteps, running towards the safety of Longbourn. Jane had never been witness to more violence than the cuffing of a servant, and the scene in front of her had her transfixed, too horrified to move, and breathing as if she had just run the distance between Meryton and Longbourn.

Bingley moved to block Mr. Wickham's progress towards her, and she found that she was glad of it. She certainly did not want Bingley to be injured, but neither did she want to be close to any man possessed of such an angry countenance as Wickham showed at that moment. Without noticing it, she had sunk to her knees, her breathing rapid and shallow, and a faint ringing beginning to build in her ears. Then Wickham leapt at Bingley, reaching for his throat.

Jane screamed.

* * *

_This could not be happening_, Mr. Bennet thought. Only a few minutes ago he had been sitting quietly at home when Kitty had run into his study, interrupting him in the middle of a very interesting book, and so out of breath that she could not make herself understood. He tried to throw her out, telling her not to return until she could speak sensibly, but she refused! In desperation she had grabbed his pen and a sheet of foolscap off his desk and wrote shakily 'Wickham & Bingley fighting' before collapsing into a chair still panting heavily and visibly trembling.

"What? Impossible!" but Kitty nodded vigorously, urging him with her eyes to believe him. Just when it looked like he might finally get some peace, something else untoward had to happen. It was exasperating Even if he despised the man, Wickham was his son-in-law, and so he ordered his horse saddled, and had two of his sturdier servants sent out before him in search of the gentlemen. Suddenly recollecting something, he wheeled back to Kitty, "Where are your sisters?"

The only answer he got was Kitty waving her hand vaguely in the directly she had come from. Mr. Bennet just barely managed to prevent himself from swearing in front of his impressionable daughter, and hurried out of the room, praying that no harm would come to Jane. _This cannot be happening!_

Once on his way, he had passed Lydia on the road running in his direction, but got nothing more intelligible out of her than a confirmation that he was headed the right way. His concern for Jane increased after seeing Lydia's distress Of all his daughters Jane was the one he worried about as least able to deal with the goings on in the world. To be witness to an altercation between her sister's husband and the man she had been pining for would probably be more than she could handle. He found himself suddenly in sympathy with his wife's nerves, and he urged his horse to a faster pace.

The scene when he arrived had him completely at a loss. Wickham was being restrained by the men he had sent out and bore several large welts on his neck hands, and face. A closer look showed that the men restraining him were probably supporting him in equal measure; he appeared dazed, and his eyes unfocused and a vague smile upon his face. Jane was sitting on the ground looking pale, and being supported by Mr. Bingley who did not look to be in a condition to support anyone - Mr. Bennet noticed he was showing the beginnings of a black eye. With some alarm he took in the blood on Mr. Bingley's hands and a smear across his forehead as though he had wiped his brow with the back of his bloodied hand.

He could not see the source of the blood and this was what finally spurred him into action. "Jane, my dear, are you hurt?" He dismounted and abandoned his horse to kneel in front of her, taking her hands in his and looking for any sign of injury.

"No, I am well. I was frightened and nearly fainted, but I am much recovered now."

"But the blood…?" He trailed off, looking at Mr. Bingley.

"What?" Bingley followed Mr. Bennet's gaze to his hands and suddenly understood. He had forgotten the injury in his concern over Miss Bennet. "It is certainly not Miss Bennet's, sir. She took no injury."

Upon noticing the blood herself, Jane expressed some concern for Mr. Bingley's health, but he insisted it was nothing but a scratch, and move away a few paces to give her some privacy with her father and to gather his own thoughts. It was not supposed to have happened this way! He needed to decide how to proceed from here, and quickly.

Mr. Bennet eyed Bingley doubtfully, not disposed to think kindly of a man whose involvement in a fight had led to his daughter's current distress. After he had assured himself that Jane was not wounded and extracted from her a promise to remain seated until he returned, he drew Mr. Bingley aside. "I want a complete explanation, sir."

"Sir, I will be happy to oblige you, but the story is a long one, and my business with Wickham is not over." Mr. Bennet sputtered in anger and looked about to interject, but Bingley continued speaking as if he had not noticed. "I owe you a great deal for the help you sent, but I must ask you to delay your satisfaction for a few moments more. May I suggest you get your daughter safely home? I give you my word that I will follow directly, and will tell you the meaning behind this," his gesture took in his own disheveled appearance as well as Wickham and Miss Bennet.

"You presume a great deal Mr. Bingley. My daughter may be injured, and my son-in-law certainly is, and you desire me to wait patiently. No - it is worse than that - you desire me to let you continue to deal with him in his current injured state and without supervision. Why should I allow such a thing?"

"It cannot be helped, sir." This plain statement drew a look of amazement from Mr. Bennet. Bingley continued, "His injuries are regrettable, but they will heal, and I merely defended myself as any man would. And now I will say no more on this subject until he has given me the information I came to procure."

Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow; Mr. Bingley was not known for being assertive. A glance at Jane convinced him that Bingley had the right of it, however. It would be best to get her home soon. "I will hold you to your word, Mr. Bingley. Do not make me regret it." With that, Mr. Bennet returned to his daughter's side, and lifted her onto his horse, mounting behind her to lend his support.

Now that he was assured that Jane was well cared for, Bingley was able to return to dealing with Wickham. Their battle had been brief and furious. In truth, Bingley remembered little of what had passed. He remembered using his riding crop to inflict the welts that Mr. Bennet had noticed. There was also the disturbingly clear memory of Wickham somehow managing to produce a knife, and his just barely managing to escape with the shallow cut to his side. He supposed the blow that was blacking his eye might be responsible for the vague nature of his memories of the rest of the altercation. Somehow, and he did not remember how, Wickham had ended up on the ground, having hit his head – presumably – against a rock on the side of the path just feet from where Jane was standing looking near collapse. And at that point Mr. Bennet's servants arrived, or had they been there before and he just didn't notice them. (*)

Well, it hardly mattered how the fight had progressed. What mattered was that Wickham was now in front of him, and seemingly docile in the arms of his captors. Not wanting any more rumors than would already be flying about, he asked the men to leave them for a few moments, warning them not to stray in case Mr. Wickham had need of their assistance. Once they were beyond hearing, he turned to the task at hand. "Mr. Wickham," Bingley said in a conversational tone that did not get the dazed man's attention. "Mr. Wickham," he repeated more loudly. Finally, he took Wickham's chin in his hand and turned his head until their eyes met. "Mr. Wickham, can you hear me?"

"Mr. Bingley," he said with some surprise when he finally focused his gaze, "I did not know you had returned to Netherfield. What a pleasure to see you again, sir. May I introduce my wife, Mrs. Wickham," he looked around vaguely, "Oh, she seems to have left. She was here just a moment ago."

Bingley swore under his breath. Wickham's wits had clearly been scattered by the blow to his head. He could only pray that he would recall the past more clearly than the present. "I passed Mrs. Wickham on my way here. I offer you my congratulations." What he planned to do next disgusted him more than all his lies earlier, and he swallowed hard before continuing. "I hear you managed to finally repay Mr. Darcy for all the injuries he has done you. My congratulations on solving the matter so neatly. Nobody else suspects a thing, but you and I know better."

His conspiratorial tone, combined with Wickham's confusion seemed to have the desired effect. Wickham was muttering quietly to the effect that Darcy had ruined him and destroyed all his future prospects.

"I fear I have a problem of a similar nature. Your solution quite intrigues me. Would you tell me how you brought it about?"

"Oh? And who is it you wish removed? A troublesome business partner? A woman who desires more than you care to give her? Come, tell me your problems and I will give you my solution." It was unclear exactly who Wickham thought he was dealing with now, but it could be assumed that he had participated in similar conversations with some of his less respectable connections and now thought himself in their presence. He never would have spoken so to Mr. Bingley had he been in his right mind.

Bingley pretended to ponder this for a moment, actually thinking furiously about what story to give. With mock hesitation in his voice he said, "Very well, I suppose that is a fair deal. I have an uncle in trade, who has amassed quite the fortune. Until recently his wife has been barren, but just last week she announced that she is expecting a child before the end of the year. If the child is male, he will become my uncle's sole heir, an honor that is currently mine. Naturally, I wish to prevent this. My aunt is somewhat old to be bearing her first child, and it would not be too hard to imagine that the strain of it might overcome her. With some assistance, of course."

"Of course, of course." Wickham nodded happily. "I quite understand. I will be glad to help you." He hesitated.

Bingley spotted the cue instantly and offered Wickham one hundred pounds when the troublesome aunt had passed, and a small percent of the inheritance when it should fall. Satisfied with the deal, Wickham gave him a name and address in one of London's seedier districts. "I cannot recall the name of the herb, some foreign concoction or other, but the proprietor will know what you seek, just mention my name." Wickham winked conspiritorily.

Completely disgusted with the creature in front of him, Bingley stood up, wiping his hands on his trousers as if to clean them of Wickham's taint. Raising his voice, he summoned the waiting servants, charging them to return Wickham to Longbourn, but to take their time about it. Then he mounted his horse and headed towards Longbourn to face Mr. Bennet. He hoped their conversation would not take long, as the cut in his side was starting to pain him. (+)

* * *

* - Did sweet, kind, unassuming Jane have anything to do with Wickham's head injury? Perhaps she took a rock in her hands and aided his fall, or maybe he fell a little too close to her and she kicked out in fear. Or maybe he _did_ hit his head on a rock. Surely Jane will never divulge her part in the matter, and as Bingley doesn't remember, I leave it to you to decide. What do you think happened?

+ - In the immortal words of Douglas Adams **Don't Panic!** I promise Bingley is in no mortal danger. the injury i'm envisioning is a shallow cut the abdomen, which will cause a fair amount of pain when moving (the abs are involved in so many of our daily movements as anybody who has ever done a few too many crunches realizes when they go to get out of bed the next morning) but is not very serious on its own as long as it does not become infected. I just couldn't let him escape unscathed. i imagine that Wickham is more skilled in the art of brawling and all-around dirty fighting (hence the concealed weapon) and would be capable of moves that Bingley wouldn't have been expecting.


	7. Aftermath

**A fairly long chapter for me...but I thought it better than two short ones separated by a cliffhanger. Enjoy

* * *

**

Mr. Bennet helped his daughter to dismount, and led her to his study calling for some refreshment to be sent in. "Jane, dear, I would like to speak to you of what happened. Do you think you can talk of it without too much distress? I want to be prepared when I speak to Mr. Bingley, and I doubt I will get much of sense out of your sisters." What he did not say was that he was sure that Jane would not lie to him, even if it meant showing Mr. Bingley to be in the wrong, something he was heartily worried about. The young man clearly admired his eldest daughter and she returned the sentiment, but he would not give her in marriage to a violent man, no matter how amiable he appeared in company. Jane might try and explain his behavior and motivations to make him blameless, but she would represent the course of events faithfully.

"I am afraid I do not know much of what happened, but I will tell you what I can." She began from Mr. Bingley's joining their party, detailing their conversations up to the point where she escaped back to her sister's company, but completely avoiding mentioning her own embarrassment or suppositions about his feelings towards her.

"Why do you suppose he wanted to speak to a military man? Did he give any indication?" He wished he had asked more of Bingley's 'business' with Wickham before sending him off earlier. All this might then have been avoided.

"No, Father."

"Very well, continue."

"From here I do not know much. It was Kitty who first noticed that they seemed to be angry with one another. I thought it might become serious, so I sent her to you right away. I do not remember when Lydia left, I did not notice she was gone until you arrived. Mr. Wickham twice tried to walk away and both times was prevented from doing so by Mr. Bingley. There was some mention of a magistrate but I did not catch the context – Mr. Wickham was shouting but Mr. Bingley never raised his voice. After another brief exchange," Jane paused, remembering how frightened she was to see Mr. Bingley in danger, "Mr. Wickham just…attacked. I do not know what provoked him, but he looked quite vicious." Jane was speaking quickly now, the words pouring out of her as her fear resurfaced in full measure. "Oh, Father," tears began to flow down her cheeks, "it was so awful. What could have brought them to that? And then…then Mr. Wickham had a knife!" Mr. Bennet stirred uneasily here, finding the thought of the weapon much more disturbing than just the fight itself. He had not noticed the knife anywhere, and he wondered vaguely what had happened to it. Of more pressing concern was determing why Mr. Wickham had apparently felt it necessary to go armed on a walk with his daughters? "When I saw Mr. Bingley bleeding," Jane dissolved fully into tears now, and could not finish her sentence. Mr. Bennet was glad that Hill arrived at that moment with the tea things.

"Here, now my dear," he said handing her a cup of tea and drying her eyes with his handkerchief, "We need speak no more of it. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Wickham will tell me the rest I am sure." Unaccountably, this increased her distress, her sobbing redoubled making it hard to make out what she was trying to say to him. Finally, he gathered that she did not want him to be alone in a room with Mr. Wickham. That she was afraid for his sake did much to ease his fears that Mr. Bingley was at fault – surely if he had been, Jane would make equal objections to his speaking with Bingley. "Be easy, Jane. If you are so concerned, I will make sure that both of Mr. Hill's boys are near at the time." This calmed her enough that she was able to obey her father's urging to take some tea, into which he had taken the liberty of pouring a dose of spirits. When she had finished her drink, he sent her to her rooms to rest and then began pacing his study in anticipation of his coming conference with Mr. Bingley

Jane gratefully retreated to her rooms. She desperately needed to clear her mind, and once again found her wishing for Lizzy's presence. Wanting to confide in her sister, she settled on the best alternative, and drew out the letter she had begun the previous day. She did not progress far in her writing before the emotional strain of the past few hours combined with the alcohol in her tea manifested physically in the form of complete exhaustion. Sighing deeply, Jane put the unfinished letter away, and curled up on her bed falling instantly into a deep sleep.

* * *

Bingley found himself staring warily at the door to Longbourn for the second time that day, dreading entering every bit as much as he had earlier. Still, it must be done and so he dismounted, suppressing a wince at the pain this caused in his side – he must remember to have that cut seen to. It was not deep, and had mostly stopped bleeding, but it had a distressing tendency to pain him every time he moved. Perhaps he would call on the apothecary on his way back to Netherfield to procure something for the pain.

Had Mr. Bennet thought that Bingley's newfound assertiveness would pass quickly, he would have been disappointed immediately on Bingley's entrance to his study. To be sure, Bingley looked pale, and was moving somewhat cautiously, his left arm pressed close against his side, but his address was still purposeful and his features set in a serious mien. Not waiting for his host to speak, Mr. Bingley began, "I promised you an explanation, sir. Let me begin with the purpose for my sudden appearance in Hertfordshire." Bingley spoke succinctly, avoiding all untruths – his dealing with Wickham having given him a profound distaste for further deception. Of course, the details were not his to divulge, so he merely stated that Wickham had been causing trouble for Mr. Darcy, and while others were trying to resolve matters in town he had taken it upon himself to apply directly to the man himself. I am sorry that Miss Bennet was witness to such a scene, and even more ashamed to admit that I purposefully bated Mr. Wickham in the hope that he would forget himself enough to divulge the information I sought. I did not expect him to become violent, and I certainly had no wish to cause her or your other daughters any sort of distress. If my mission were not so vital, I would not have acted so rashly. I am sorry." Bingley finished and waited for Mr. Bennet's answer.

Mr. Bennet gestured to Bingley to take a seat – he had been standing as he confessed – but did not move again until he believed himself to have sufficient command of his voice. It had long been known in Meryton that Mr. Darcy had denied Wickaham a very valuable and respectable position in the church. Of late, Mr. Bennet had begun to seriously doubt his story, but had kept his misgivings to himself – it was unpleasant to think that his family might be connected with such a scoundrel. Now was not the time to be silent on the matter, however, and he decided to press Bingley further. "I cannot think of what would be so urgent to excuse your actions unless it was a matter of life and death." He looked piercingly at Bingley, who closed his eyes as if praying for guidance and took a deep breath before returning the look and nodding somberly, saying "I will say no more on the matter, but yes, you are correct in you assessment."

Mr. Bennet had not expected that, and his brow furrowed in slight consternation as a troubling thought presented itself, quickly followed by a second horrifying idea. "Is Mr. Wickham about to find himself in trouble with the law? And is he a danger to my family? I will not have him in the house if it poses a risk to my wife or daughters!" It is not pleasant to think that Mr. Bennet would worry first of suffering a scandal and then of the safety of his family. However, Lydia's elopement had been very trying to him; the threat public disgrace had forced him to face how poorly he had cared for his family, so perhaps it is not entirely unnatural that his dread of another such experience would cause his mind to leap to that topic above all others.

"The matter of legal recourse is not in my hands, sir. If what he told me earlier proves true, and the news reaches London in time for it to be of some use, I expect Mr. Darcy will be satisfied with never laying eyes on Mr. Wickham again." Bingley paused here, seeking for the most politic way to proceed. Not that he expected to ever be welcome in Longbourn again, but it was in his nature to wish to give as little offense as possible. "As for your family, it is not my place to decide, but since you asked my opinion I think perhaps it would be best if as soon as he recovers from the blow to the head he were to move to join his new regiment."

Mr. Bennet nodded, satisfied with this solution, and happy to have the matter resolved with so little effort on his part.

"I have imposed on you abominably this day, but might I ask for one more favor, sir? I mentioned that I need to send word to Town, I would like to post the express as I pass back through Meryton."

"Certainly, Mr. Bingley, that is no imposition. You will find writing instruments in the desk." Now that all cause for concern was over, as he saw it, Mr. Bennet turned back to his usual appreciation of the absurd. He would enjoy thinking on this sudden change in Bingley's character, and expected much amusement from the gossip that would follow this incident. That there would be gossip was sure – neither Kitty nor Lydia would be able to school their tongues to silence, and Mrs. Bennet would certainly bemoan her daughter and son-in-law's early removal to Newcastle.

As Bingley withdrew a slightly creased letter from his pocket and flattened it on the desk, Mr. Bennet continued, as it occurred to him that it would be advantageous to forestall any awkwardness between himself and Mr. Bingley the sake of his eldest daughter, "I cannot claim a full understanding of your motivation, but no lasting harm has been done here, and I am quite satisfied with your forthrightness in explaining the incident. Once you have settled matters in Town, do you expect to return to Netherfield? Mrs. Bennet, I know, is eager for you to come and dine with us as you promised to do before you left last November."

Bingley looked a little silly at this reflection, and said something of his concern at having been prevented by business. His reaction was every bit as absurd as Mr. Bennet could have wished, and he smiled as he waited for a more coherent reply.

For his part, Bingley was shocked; was Mr. Bennet actually intimating that he still welcomed his presence? After today he had not expected to ever be welcomed into Longbourn again. Perhaps he could return and in time win Miss Bennet's affections. A smile crossed his lips as he sealed his letter, but vanished quickly. What woman would accept the attentions of a gentleman after witnessing him engaged in such crude behavior as he had shown today? But neither hope nor love can be so easily extinguished, and he found himself answering, "I hope that I will, sir. Thank you for your understanding, and please convey my sincere apologies to Miss Bennet for having alarmed her." With that, Mr. Bingley left the room.

* * *

It was nearing midnight and Colonel Fitzwilliam was sitting down to a much-belated supper in Darcy's townhouse. Since Bingley had departed for Hertforshire that morning Fitzwilliam had encountered only dead ends in seeking out Wickham's connections. To make matters worse, there must be two-dozen apothecaries in the area near Wickham's former lodgings, and probably another two or three dozen men who could obtain a suitable poison if approached in the right manner. It was infuriating! Fitzwilliam threw down his fork and angrily pushed his plate away from him – he was too frustrated to finish his meal. Finally there was something that could be done for his cousin, and he was unable to accomplish it! Blast it all, how was he to make any progress if he could not even think of a suitable place to start! Fervently, he hoped that Bingley would have better luck in Hertforshire.

Exhausted from his efforts, the Colonel was about to seek his rooms when a footman entered bearing a much-abused letter. Snatching it off the silver tray, he glanced briefly at the direction – yes, it was from Bingley, no one else in his acquaintance had such abominable handwriting. Hands shaking, he broke the seal, and the first thing that caught his eye was a bloody fingerprint on the paper. "Damn!" he swore, thinking he would never forgive himself for whatever harm had come to Bingley. Forcing himself to some semblance of calm, he turned his eyes from the bloodstain to attend the actual words.

_Colonel Fitzwilliam – _

_I have arrived safely in Hertfordshire. I plan to go directly to Longbourn to seek out Mr. Wickham as soon as I have removed some of the dust of the road from my person. I will post this as I pass through the village after I have seen him, but will only write more today if I have news to share._

_Yours Faithfully,_

_Charles Bingley_

The second half of the missive was in even sloppier script than was usual, but with some pains, Fitzwilliam was able to decipher it.

_P.S. Henry! I can scarce believe it myself, but I have succeeded in getting a name and address. I leave it to you to determine if he has deceived us, but I believe he was not capable of that when he confessed (he had suffered a bad blow to the head). He said the herb is a foreign concoction, but assured me that the proprietor would know what I wanted if I mentioned his name. Oh, and he said he added it to his tea._

_Charles_

Below this was written the name of a shop with an address in St. Giles Rookery. All his fatigue forgotten, Fitzwilliam hastened to his rooms to change into something that would not stand out in such a neighborhood, he just hoped his batman (*) could locate suitable attire for them both – he was not foolish enough to attempt this on his own. Sergeant Jacobs was clearly unhappy about the situation, but used to obeying orders without question he complied, finding the desired articles among the castoffs of the stablemen. Soon they were both dressed in ill-fitting, threadbare, stained and somewhat malodorous clothes, and Fitzwilliam laughed heartily at the sight of himself in the mirror. "I think we shall pass muster, eh Jacobs?"

Sergeant Jacobs was less than amused by the situation – especially the sour smell of manure and sweat that was issuing from his current attire – but replied in the affirmative. No one in possession of their faculties would think them a gentleman and his valet. Jacobs then stood awaiting his next order in his habitual impassive silence, struggling to keep from wrinkling his nose in distaste. Colonel Fitzwilliam, amused with how the Sergeant was attempting to conceal his distaste for their current state for sake of duty and loyalty rewarded the man with an explanation of their mission. This raised Jacobs's spirits considerably. While he was generally content in his position as batman, his duties were far from exciting and he relished the occasional opportunity to be included in the colonel's more sensitive endeavors. Colonel Fitzwilliam produced arms for them both from a locked box in a drawer of his writing desk, and after concealing the weapons he judged them ready to set out.

Judging it best not to be seen leaving through the front door in such attire – or to risk being berated by Mrs. Franklin, Darcy's formidable housekeeper, for tracking filth through the immaculate halls – the two men chose to exit via the servant's quarters, somehow managing to escape detection, and continued out through the mews. The stablemen were hard pressed not to laugh to see their master's cousin dressed as he was, but they too kept their silence until Fitzwilliam and Jacobs had staggered down the street looking for all the world like a pair of drunkards seeking their next drink.

Not wanting to be traced back to Darcy's house if something went awry, they weaved their way down several city blocks, leaning on each other, laughing loudly and singing snatches of crude songs – the colonel had overheard enough of those through his time in the army to make a fair show of it, though his mother would certainly have cuffed him soundly if she had heard him use such words in company. When Fitzwilliam judged them far enough away to avoid suspicion, they hailed a cab, and from there it was not long before they arrived at the Seven Dials, and stepped down to walk the last block or so in the anonymity of the seething crowds.

After a brief survey of the surrounding area it was decided that Sergeant Jacobs would taken up a position in an ale-house across the narrow alleyway, and would wait ten minutes before entering – this was, after all, not the type of business one conducted in company. The 'shop' Fitzwilliam entered was little more than storage cellar, though some scraps of cloth hanging in the back of the room suggested that it was both living quarters and place of business. The colonel, not a particularly tall man, found himself having to stoop to keep from knocking his head on the ceiling beams as he made his way through the gloom towards the back of the room. Even without the partitions, it was not a large room, but the lighting was poor and the floor was uneven, so he was forced to proceed slowly, a circumstance which gave the proprietor plenty of time to scrutinize his new customer.

Fitzwilliam acted his part well, looking in equal parts wary and eager as he approached the stooped man behind the counter. "And what can I do for you, good sir?" the man said in a slightly mocking air, playing on his customers perceived insecurities.

Fitzwilliam answered in a gruff voice, adopting the cadences he had heard used by his enlisted men (+) "I'm here to pay George Wickham's tab."

The colonel had guessed correctly that Wickham had not paid his bill, and the man's face brightened and his manner towards Fitzwilliam warmed considerably. "Is that so? 'Bout time, but why is it you and not himself? You lose a bet to the scoundrel?"

"Not exactly. Paying his bill was the price he asked for directing me to you." Fitzwilliam pulled a sour face as if he thought the price too steep, "I have a bit of a problem and he said you could help me fix it as you did for him."

"Indeed?" Avarice shone in the man's eyes, the concoction Wickham had bought was not cheap, and he would not only finally be paid, but he might make another sale. "Forgive me, but after my recent dealings…" he trailed off suggestively.

"Aye, I understand. How much would you be wanting then? George didn't say." Seeking to assure the man that he could pay without revealing how much money he was in possession of he fingered the pouch in his pocket, allowing the coins to clink together.

_Or you were too drunk to remember_, the storekeeper thought, _pity you are not drunk now, or I could take that pretty purse from and save my wares for another._ Summoning a false smile he said, "What you're asking for is rare, you understand, and will cost you. Wickham owes one pound. What I gave him was enough to brew in a pot of tea so that a full cup would produce the desired effect. Shall I get you the same?"

"I'm not sure, I don't need as…um…permanent a solution as he did. I only need a few days."

"Oh, then I have other products that would suit you admirably," the shopkeeper began, realizing glumly that he might not make as much money from this deal as he originally thought.

"No!" Fitzwilliam said hastily, then in a more reasonable tone, "I trust what you gave old George, as I saw the effects, and I know the physician thought it completely natural." He wished he could hint towards an antidote, but he thought it unlikely the Wickham had ever inquired for such. If Wickham had no way to know of an antidote, it would be extremely suspicious for him to inquire about it. As it was the man was eying him warily. He needed more practice at subterfuge, but he would not panic yet. And the weight of the revolver in his belt was comforting – somehow he would get his answer.

"Well," the man said, drawing out the word as if considering doing Fitzwilliam a favor,

"I might be able to arrange that, let me think." Really, the man was happy, his customer's desire would substantially increase the cost. As he rummaged through the assortment of jars and boxes sitting on their rotting shelves he muttered as if to himself, "Yes, if you give only half the dose…it cannot be left too long, but, yes…I think it should work." He then turned with a triumphant grin on his face announcing in a normal tone "I have your solution." He placed two packets on the table. "Brew this in your 'problem's' tea: it will make the tea bitter, but not unusually so. It is enough to put them into a very deep sleep but will not permanently erase your 'problem' right away. This second," he indicated the smaller of the two packages, "must be given in a few days time, no more than four or five at most. Since your 'problem' will be in no state to taste it, it can simply be dissolved in water."

"And if I fail to give this one in time?" It had been a full week since Darcy had been poisoned.

The shopkeeper shrugged, "Then you have another 'problem' to deal with. That'll be three pounds – including Wickham's bill – if you want the lot.

Fitzwilliam grumbled under his breath about the price, and slowly produced the coins, watching the greedy smile on the man's face grow with each one he withdrew from his pocket. "If it doesn't work," he began menacingly, still holding the coins.

"If you do as I told you, it will work. It is no fault of mine if you cannot follow simple instructions. The drugs will do as I say," came the terse reply.

"They'd better." And Fitzwilliam dropped the coins into the waiting hand, and snatched his only hope, small as it was, off the counter. Obviously Wickham had not administered the full dose, or Darcy had not drank enough of the tea. As he rejoined Seargant Jacobs and hastened to Gracechurch street he could only pray that it was not too late.

* * *

* - batmen in the army used to serve the function of a personal servant or valet to their officers, performing a variety of tasks. I don't know if they used this term specifically in the Regency period, sorry if I'm wrong.

+ - I don't know much about writing in dialect, and rather than muck it up completely, I'm leaving it to your imagination. It's a personal preference of mine – I'd much rather make up the accent in my head than to see it rendered badly in a story, I hope you don't mind. I did relax his speech enough to allow for contractions. I imagine the first sentence would be written something like "Ah'm 'ere to pay George Wickham's tab" in the accent I'm thinking of. OK done rambling now.

**I made Fitzwilliam's job a bit easier, but after the brawl in the last chapter I felt tired of being violent and decided to try my hand at some subterfuge. Notice how Fitzwilliam is still in his filthy clothes as he heads to Gracechurch Street. I hope he causes a scene showing up at 2AM looking like a vagabond and smelling like manure. Also, I didn't have the shopkeeper and Fitzwilliam exchange names, I figured it would be odd for them to do so, and neither would want to give a real name anyway.** **As always, thanks to my reviewers! I haven't decided if next chapter will be back to Elizabeth and Darcy or to Bingley and Jane, but hopefully less strife and more fluff on the way soon.  
**


	8. A Commotion

Elizabeth walked the grounds of Pemberley arm in arm with Darcy. They proceeded in comfortable silence admiring the natural beauty all around them, and both taking pleasure in just being near the other. From somewhere behind her came the sound of Georgiana's laughter; her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner were amusing her with tales of Elizabeth and Jane when they were younger. On some level, Elizabeth knew she was dreaming, but the dream was so pleasant that she gladly suspended her disbelief.

They reached the house and this time when Darcy invited her inside for refreshment while waiting for her relations, she consented. He led her to the parlor adjoining the music room, and she turned in a slow circle admiring once again the simple beauty of Pemberley and knowing deep in her soul that this is where she belongs. When she turned back to smile at Darcy, however, her contentment is shattered. Standing before her now is none other than Mr. Wickham, with an angry look in his eye. "It is your own fault, you know. You should never have told Mr. Darcy of your troubles, then he would have been safe," he says advancing on her.

"Where is he? What did you do?" Elizabeth backed away, looking wildly about her for an escape, for any clue where Darcy is. In the distance she could hear a frantic pounding, "Elizabeth!" his voice sounded so far away, but the pounding continued, growing louder. Still backing away, her foot snagged on the edge of the carpet, and she felt herself start to fall.

Elizabeth woke with a start, shaking off the sensation of falling with some difficulty. Heart thudding, she sat up, and looked around. She was safe in her bed at the Gardiner's and Wickham was still at Longbourn far away from here. Strangely, though, she still heard the pounding. And now she noticed shouting as well, and running footsteps. She grabbed her dressing gown and crept cautiously into the hallway only to be nearly run over by her uncle.

"Stay in your room, Lizzy!" he said barely even glancing at her as he hurtled down the stairs brandishing a cast-iron poker. A harassed-looking footman followed in his wake, carrying the matching fire-tongs.

Elizabeth's first instinct on perceiving danger was to listen to her uncle, but her curiosity was overpowering, and she moved silently to the top of the stairs, peeking around the corner at the scene being enacted downstairs: at three servants and her uncle, all armed with some heavy household item or other, were clustered in the foyer where the hammering on the door continued. From her new position, Elizabeth could just make out the words that were being shouted through the thick oak. "Gardiner! I say, Gardiner, open up!"

She jumped, just barely managing to prevent a squeal of surprise passing her lips when a hand touched her shoulder. "Sorry," Georgiana whispered, "I wanted to know what was the matter." Being caught in the same act, Elizabeth could hardly refuse the girl, and moved over slightly so they could both observe.

They returned their attention below just in time to see a footman pull open the door in a swift motion. "What do you want?" Mr. Gardiner demanded imperiously, as the remaining two footmen brandished their makeshift weapons in the direction of the would-be intruder. Ignoring the threats, he boldly stepped forward into the light demanding to know what the fuss was all about. Elizabeth had to stifle another gasp on observing the disheveled man dressed in stained, threadbare clothing, yet she saw he carried himself as straight and proud as any lord, or…or a solider.

"Oh!" squealed Georgiana emerging from her hiding place and rushing down the stairs, oblivious to the impropriety of doing so in her nightdress and dressing gown. "Cousin, why are you dressed like that," she stopped suddenly a few feet away from him, "and what _is_ that smell?" she demanded in a feminine version of Darcy's commanding tone drawing a chuckle from Elizabeth.

Fitzwilliam looked down at himself, seemingly surprised, then threw back his head and laughed startling the whole company. There had been little mirth in the house of late, and certainly none from Darcy's relatives. When he had control over himself again he looked at Mr. Gardiner, laughter still dancing in his eyes, "Now I understand, Gardiner. In my rush I quite forgot my…shall we call it a disguise?"

"Has something happened, Henry?" Georgiana asked, still maintaining a few feet between herself and her cousin. Elizabeth could hardly blame her, as she was starting to notice the distinct smell of horse manure, stale ale and other unpleasant things she had no wish to identify from her perch on the top of the staircase.

"Yes, something good." Turning to Mr. Gardiner, he elaborated, "Mr. Bingley has been able to get some information concerning Darcy's illness that may help us."

"Bingley?" In her surprise Elizabeth couldn't stop herself from speaking. All heads turned towards her, and she blushed at being caught eavesdropping having disobeyed her uncle's order to stay hidden, and in such a state of dress, or rather undress. "Lizzy," Mr. Gardiner said with some little exasperation, but raising his eyebrow in such a way that let her know he was more amused than anything else. "Well, it seems the whole house is up," Mr. Gardiner gave Colonel Fitzwilliam a look of mock disapproval. "Ladies, why do you not return to bed and let the colonel relate his tale to me. I promise to tell you all in the morning." Elizabeth would much rather have changed and joined the conference, but her uncle went on to suggest tactfully that the colonel must be anxious to return home and change.

"I confess, I do long good hot bath and plenty of scrubbing," Fitzwilliam agreed, laughing at himself.

Mrs. Gardiner had also emerged from her room by this point, and now shepherded the girls back to their beds, leaving the men to themselves. Elizabeth could not think of returning to sleep and paced her room; did this have anything to do with her suspicions of Mr. Wickham's involvement? She thought Mr. Bingley must have found out something very important for Colonel Fitzwilliam to show up at 3 o'clock in the morning, and in such a state. And how did Mr. Bingley get involved – he had been planning to visit relations in Scarborough. On reflection she decided that it was entirely consistent with his character to rush to be with his friend at such a time, but then why had he not come to visit Darcy? It was strange. And what of her conviction that Mr. Wickham was involved; did that have any bearing on tonight's occurrences?

A gentle knock on her door drew her out of her reverie, and she opened it, not at all surprised to find Georgiana on the other side. "I could not go back to sleep, and Henry, I mean my cousin and Mr. Gardiner would not let me into William's room." She was not crying, but neither was she composed, and Elizabeth took her hands, pressing them warmly.

"Surely it must be a good thing that your cousin is here. He would not have come in such a state for something that was not of the utmost importance," Elizabeth recited the thoughts she had just been using to steady her own nerves.

"I do hope so, but I just hate…Nobody tells me anything!" she said with sudden vehemence. "I am no longer a child, but Henry still insists on treating me like one," she seemed to realize that her petulant tantrum was bordering on childlike, and made an effort to calm herself. "Fitzwilliam is my guardian and my brother, and it is not right that I should not be told about his condition."

Elizabeth felt the justice of this, and could not but feel ashamed of herself for allowing it to continue when she had made a similar observation less than twenty-four hours previously. "You have taken Mr. Darcy's condition very ill, and I'm sure Colonel Fitzwilliam just sought to protect you. However" she stopped Georgiana's interruption with a raised hand, "however I think you are correct. While we wait for my uncle and Colonel Fitzwilliam to conclude their conversation, may I tell you all that I know?"

"Oh, thank you Lizzy!" Georgiana hugged Elizabeth, then eagerly grabbed her hand and sat down beside her on the edge of the bed. Georgiana was an attentive listener, taking the news better than her relations and guardians would have expected. Elizabeth hesitated before mentioning her suspicion that it was Mr. Wickham who was to blame, mindful of Georgiana's reaction when Miss Bingley had merely made a reference to him, but other than a quick intake of breath and tightening her grip on Elizabeth's hand, Georgiana did not react. "That is all, though there may be more which I do not know, such as how Mr. Bingley came to be involved."

Georgiana embraced her tightly, and earnestly though not very fluently thanked her friend for being so open. "It _is_ horrible to think on such matters, but it is somehow better to know than to be always wondering. I cannot thank you enough for all that you have done for my brother and myself."

Still being embraced by Georgiana, Elizabeth felt crushed by an impossible weight of guilt. She had not exposed Wickham's character when she certainly ought to have done so – even Mr. Darcy had seen the justice in such a statement in Lambton, for he had not contradicted her. And what had possessed her to confide such a delicate family matter to Mr. Darcy? If he had not known, he and Georgiana would still be safe with their friends at Pemberley.

Georgiana felt Elizabeth stiffen, and was on the point of inquiring about it when they heard the sound of a door opening followed by footsteps and a hushed conversation. The two women turned towards the door to Elizabeth's chamber expectantly, both concentrating on the muffled voices.

"…I do not know how long it will take; in my excitement I neglected to ask." That sounded like Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"I suppose it would look suspicious to return now?" Mr. Gardiner inquired.

"Yes, leastways I would not expect a forthright answer. In any case, it has been so long that it cannot be expected to work in the normal way, if indeed it works at all." Georgiana gripped Elizabeth's hands tightly upon hearing the defeat in Colonel Fitzwilliam's voice.

"Do not be so downcast, Colonel. Thanks to you and Mr. Bingley we have a great deal more reason to hope than we have in the past. Why, I am of the opinion…"

The footsteps had passed Elizabeth's door, and retreated downstairs making it impossible to hear any more. With some alacrity, Georgiana moved to the door and held her hand out to Elizabeth, "I cannot retire to my own bed this night. Will you keep me company, Elizabeth?"

"Of course, if you wish it." Elizabeth still felt oppressed by guilt and part of her desired to be alone so she might suffer in solitude, but she was curious as to what sort of information Mr. Bingley had acquired and how it would affect Mr. Darcy's condition, and she could hardly refuse her friend any solace she might be in a position to offer.

If either of them had hoped that some miraculous change had taken place in response to Colonel Fitzwilliam's ministrations – whatever they were – they were destined to be sorely disappointed. Mr. Darcy looked as ill as ever, and the only alteration to the sick room was that the normally full glass of water resting beside his bed was empty, the inside of it covered with a thin white film. Georgiana examined the glass minutely, even going so far as to gingerly sniff at it, but she had no knowledge of medicinal plants and herbs beyond those commonly used and so could glean no great information from the glass. She gave Elizabeth a rueful look and a slight shrug before settling herself in the chair nearest her brother to watch for any improvement.

Knowing when to be silent is one of the rarest gifts a person can possess, but it was one Elizabeth had cultivated from an early age – as soon as she was old enough to be embarrassed by her mother's lack of that very ability, in fact. She knew that Georgiana derived comfort from her presence, but that she also would need time to digest all that she had just been told regarding her brother. Picking up the second volume of a new novel, Sense and Sensibility that her aunt had just procured, she took possession of a chair near the fireplace, and tried to distract herself with the lives of Marianne and Elinor.

Mr. Gardiner looked on them a few minutes later, having been told about their presence in Mr. Darcy's chambers by the servant they had dismissed from the room. He looked a question at Elizabeth, which she answered with a nod confirming that all was well and she would keep watch over both his guests, and left without Miss Darcy having even noticed his presence. It was not long afterwards that Elizabeth fell asleep. Despite the recent excitement and her own unsettled emotions, she had not slept more than a few hours the previous evening, and the day had been a trying one.

* * *

**AN: Sorry it's so short (and covers so little). It's been a busy week, but I hope to be able to get more written this weekend. Back to Bingley next chapter, I think, to check on that stomach wound of his and to see how long his new-found backbone can last.**


	9. A Few Awkward Moments

The ambient noise of a household waking up gradually filtered into Bingley's consciousness. In hopes of slipping back into the wonderful dream he had been having (largely featuring Mrs. Jane Bingley and their five gorgeous children – Edward, Charlie, Lizzy, Charles, and Fanny) he tried to move into a more comfortable position. As soon as he began the motion he regretted it. It felt as if someone had set all of the muscles in his side on fire, and the pain was spreading as he returned to full consciousness. He balled his fists and gritted his teeth against the sensation, but was unable to prevent the hiss of indrawn breath at shock of it, which since the injury was to his abdomen, of course resulted in another wave of pain.

"Oh damn, that bloody hurts," he mumbled through his teeth – it is a well-known fact that swearing helps to relieve pain (*) – schooling himself to complete stillness.

"I should imagine so, sir. The apothecary said you would be in pain for some time, though the injury is not serious."

The voice of his valet was directly to his right, and instinctively Bingley turned towards it, only to reawaken the agony in his side. A strangled sound issued from his throat without his permission, and he dropped back against the pillows.

"My apologies, sir, I should not have startled you."

"No matter, Cooper, I should not have moved so quickly. I am not used to having people watch over me as I sleep. Lend me your shoulder, man, so I can get dressed. And have a tray sent up for my breakfast." Satisfied that his master's health was truly in no danger, he helped him to sit up on the edge of the bed and then left to order the desired tray. Alone, Bingley felt at ease to examine his predicament. His mind felt sluggish and at first he could not recall how he had gained the injury. It took several moments before the events of the previous day began to come back within his grasp.

He had _brawled_ with Mr. Wickham.

In front of _Jane._ Could it have been any worse?

It seemed it could be much worse; the memory of his conversation with Mr. Bennet suddenly resurfaced. Dear God, had he really been so presumptuous? He must have been possessed!

As long as it meant Darcy would live, it would be worth it.

Darcy! The letter!

He sprang to his feet – or at least attempted to do so – and received two bruised knees for his efforts when his sudden movement combined with his injury to make his vision momentarily darken and his legs give way beneath him. "Schieße!" Bingley reverted to one of the first oaths he had learned when as a child he had eavesdropped on his German tutor.

The thump and expletive brought Cooper back into the room at an undignified run. He was immediately at Bingley's side, helping him up. "My letter." Bingley gasped out.

"It was sent express, sir. You sent it yourself as you passed through Meryton. We sent a man to confirm it last night." He was a little alarmed at how much of Bingley's weight he was supporting, and instead of walking him to the dressing room, led him back to his bed. Bingley was aware of his weakness too and made no protest.

Mrs. Nicholls chose that moment to enter the room, bearing the breakfast tray. This was not usually one of her duties, but she had wanted to forestall gossiping among the other servants, and so had resolved to come herself so that she could give a proper account of the matter. "Oh, sir! You should not be up," she remarked in a disapproving but indulgent tone that reminded Bingley of being chided by his mother for some minor infraction against one or the other of his tutors. "Do you need another dose of the tincture of opium the apothecary left for you?"

"_Another_ _dose?_ I was given laudanum last night?"

"Yes, sir." Concern radiated from Cooper's voice and face. "He insisted, even when you did not wish to take the laudanum, but Mrs. Nicholls put a few drops in the brandy you requested in its stead. Do you not remember? You were quite angry with the apothecary when the drug started to take effect."

"There is a reason I dislike laudanum, Cooper! Do not let them give it to me again except in the most dire of emergencies; the effect it has on my mind often lasts for several days and has been the cause of several embarrassing situations. It also leaves me prone to fits of dizziness for a day or two after the dose." At least that explained why his memories of yesterday were so hazy. The amused look that Cooper was trying to hide by busying himself about the room suggested to Bingley that the odious drug's ability to loosen his tongue was as strong as ever.

"Oh, sir, I did not know. I am very sorry. Is there anything I can get that will lessen the effects?" Mrs. Nicholls was clearly aghast at her misstep.

"A cup of strong coffee should help relieve the dizzy spells, Mrs. Nicholls, and you have already brought that," he said, smiling and trying to put her at ease. "Your apology is hardly necessary, I understand that you acted with the best of intentions." Dismissing his housekeeper, he turned his attention to his valet, "Now, tell me at once: what did I say, and to whom?"

"Sir, I assure you that I did not know what was done until it started to take effect or I would not have let him do it," Cooper said quickly.

"I do not hold you responsible, Cooper." The man relaxed slightly. "Even if you had known, if you had felt it necessary I would trust your judgment in the matter."

"Thank you, sir," Cooper was stunned, pleased with his master's compliment and in having earned that degree of trust. When he found his voice again he went on. "Once I realized what had happened, I sent everybody from the room at once. Only the apothocary and I were witness to anything before you fully succumbed, and it was nothing that would inspire gossip in a country town."

"Nevertheless, I would like to know exactly what I said."

"Well," this was clearly not a topic Cooper was eager to canvass, "you spent most of the time calling Mr. Wickham a scoundrel – and worse epithets than that too – but seeing as he left Meryton in a great deal of debt and seduced several tradesmen's daughters, the entire neighborhood will agree with that. You also mentioned something about your express waking up Mr. Darcy – which the apothecary took to mean you were concerned at how late your missive would arrive." Mr. Bingley had told his valet something of the situation upon their setting out, so Cooper understood the true meaning behind that statement. "The last thing you said was…um," he coughed delicately, "uh…you called out for Jane, saying you loved her and begging forgiveness."

"Oh, Good Lord! Did the apothecary hear that as well?"

"No, sir, I had managed to convince him to leave your chambers by then."

"Thank heaven," Bingley said fervently. Still, that Miss Bennet was on his mind even when it was so addled gave him the impetus to make a long-deferred decision. "I am of a mind to pay a call on Mr. Bennet today. I am in no state to ride, so once I am dressed, have the carriage made ready, I will call after breakfast."

The coffee did serve to alleviate some of his dizziness, but with his equilibrium already disturbed by the laudanum, there was probably not a drug in existence that would be sufficient to prevent his stomach from becoming unsettled on the short carriage ride to Longbourn. The only comfort he had was that it was a mild enough day that he could let down the window glass and get a soothing breeze as he traveled. Frequently, he reminded himself that he should be thankful that he could take his carriage, as going on horseback would have left him in even more discomfort, assuming he would be able to keep his seat long enough to reach Longbourn.

Mrs. Nicholls, in addition to brewing an excellent pot of coffee and apologizing several more times, had also procured some other analgesics for him, so that he need not be dependant on Meryton's apothecary, who relied heavily on tincture of opium and disparaged most other treatments for pain. The powders she had given him left a foul taste in his mouth, but he had noticed some lessening of the pain in his cut. It was clear from this short trip that he would not be able to travel to London today, but with the aid of Mrs. Nicholls remedies he hoped to be fit enough to return within the week. Whether or not he would do so depended largely on his meeting with Mr. Bennet.

When Bingley stepped down from his carriage he immediately became aware of some commotion within the house. His first thought was that it had to do with Wickham, but a few seconds' listening was enough to recognize that it did not sound serious, and he was struck by the amusing thought that he may have managed to arrive before all the family had finished their toilette. Feigning deafness to the disorder abovestairs, he rang the bell and requested a private moment with Mr. Bennet.

"You seem to have a knack for throwing my house into confusion, Mr. Bingley," Mr. Bennet said by way of a greeting, waving Bingley to a chair.

"It is unintentional, I assure you. I hope you have not been too inconvenienced."

Mr. Bennet had been hoping that Mr. Bingley's more assertive nature would still be at the forefront and was disappointed by his accommodating and perfectly proper reply. It was in Mr. Bennet's nature – as it was in Elizabeth's – to provoke and tease, though he usually did so with less subtlety and a good deal less regard for propriety than his daughter. He set out now to see if he could rouse Mr. Bingley once again, for no other reason than he was curious to see if it could be done.

"The only inconvenience I have suffered is that I have been give an excellent excuse to repair to my study. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you? Mr. Wickham is still suffering from a blow to the head and is unable to leave his room, so you need not worry on that account. I have no other sons-in-law for you to scrap with, so if you are seeking more action of that kind, I must beg leave to inform you that you must look elsewhere."

Bingley was confused by this speech, and hardly knew where to look or how to answer. It was with the desire to have a serious conversation that he had traveled to Longbourn, and it took a moment to register that Mr. Bennet was teasing him, and a few moments more before he decided to answer with some levity before addressing his true purpose for coming. "Well, then perhaps I will have to visit the Goulding's next, he has a son just at the right age to be eager for a friendly scuffle. Truly, though, I am glad that Mr. Wickham has not caused you any trouble, I was afraid he would be quite incensed once he recovered his sense. But it was neither of those things that drew me here this morning; I have a question to ask of you, sir."

Mr. Bennet was quite satisfied with Mr. Bingley's awkward banter and was willing to let him direct the conversation for now. He quirked an eyebrow at his companion, set his chin on his steepled fingers, and composed himself to listen.

Slightly nonplussed by his companion's eccentricity, Mr. Bingley shifted uneasily in his chair before addressing him. Before he could completely lose his nerve he blurted, "I have come to ask permission to court your daughter."

"Indeed?" Mr. Bennet's lips twitched in a way that reminded Bingley of Miss Elizabeth when she was on the verge of saying something pert and amusing. "Well, I am sure Kitty will be glad of it. Shall I call her in, I daresay she has finished her toilette by now, the tumult abovestairs seems to have died down."

"Miss Catherine? You cannot suppose…Oh, yes, I see. I must be more specific."

"I _do_ have a great many daughters, you must understand my confusion."

"Certainly. Allow me to rephrase my query. Mr. Bennet, I would like to request the privilege of courting Miss Jane Bennet."

Mr. Bennet was suddenly serious. "What were you doing last autumn, then?" As has already been seen, he had been much affected by Lydia's elopement, and while he thought Mr. Bingley would make a good match for Jane, he was more disposed than usual to be protective of his daughters. That Jane was hopelessly attached to Mr. Bingley was clear, which meant he still had power to cause further heartbreak. Mr. Bennet was determined to shelter her from that fate, and sought to assure himself of Mr. Bingley's intentions.

Bingley flushed at this well-deserved barb, "Exactly what I am seeking permission for now, sir. I would have you believe that I meant to speak to you on my return from town in December, but as I never returned…" he trailed off.

"Yes, about that." Mr. Bennet was now more stern than Bingley had ever seen him, "Your behavior last winter caused my daughter a great deal of pain and heartache. On this matter, I must speak plainly to you. My daughter did not speak to me directly of this – I had it through my Lizzy – but Jane was thoroughly depressed when Miss Bingley called on her in Gracechurch Street to sever the acquaintance. Tell me why I should let you renew your attentions to my daughter when you allow your sister to slight her, and when you yourself do not even feel the need to call on her when you were both in Town for several months."

Bingley had gone quite pale at this, and if the wound in his side had allowed it, he probably would have been pacing the room. At a loss for another way to vent his agitation, he clenched his jaw tightly – just managing to refrain from grinding his teeth – and gripped the arms of his chair with enough force to whiten his knuckles. Breathing somewhat heavily he loosened his jaw enough to say, "I will have to speak to Caroline; she never informed me of Miss Bennet's presence in Town. She will not be allowed to cause Miss Bennet any more harm, I assure you."

Not entirely satisfied, Mr. Bennet countered, "If you did not know her to be in London, why did you not return here and seek her out? If you had been of a mind to, you would have called no matter where she was."

"If I had thought she returned my sentiments, I would have. I confess that I let others guide me in this as well. My sister assured me that Miss Bennet was indifferent to me, and I trusted her to have a greater understanding of her _friend_ than I did," he said the word friend with a slight emphasis that convinced Mr. Bennet more than anything else that Mr. Bingley no longer believed his sister truly counted Jane as a friend. "I have been mistaken in love before, and allowed myself to be persuaded."

"If you thought her indifferent, why have you come asking to court her?" Mr. Bennet was mostly assured now, but he was determined to force Mr. Bingley to admit to more than an 'attachment.'

"When I saw Miss Bennet again yesterday," he swallowed, "I decided that even if she were indifferent, I would do whatever it took to win her heart. I…I love her. I will do anything in my power to make her happy"

"Excellent!" Mr. Bennet cried. "We understand each other, then."

"What?" Bingley had been convinced by the interrogation that Mr. Bennet meant to refuse him, and this swift reversal caught him unprepared.

"I cannot do the world the injustice of keeping two young lovers apart, especially when their tempers are so well matched as yours are. Go, go! Fall in love and leave me to my books in peace." Despite the dryness of his tone, Mr. Bennet was quite pleased with the meeting. He chucked when he realized that his thoughts were probably the same as his wife's would be in this situation; he was trying to calculate how many days would pass before Mr. Bingley's return to ask for Miss Bennet's hand in marriage. Certainly it would take at least a full day, but not above three days for Mr. Bingley to come to the point at last.

He was mistaken, however. His thoughts were decidedly different from Mrs. Bennet's. While Mr. Bennet was guessing at the number of days that might pass, Mrs. Bennet was plotting ways that she could get the two young people alone together to hasten the proposal. Her initial plan was to get them to go out walking: Mary preferred her books to exercise and Kitty could easily be persuaded to call on Miss Lucas leaving the two alone. This plan was destined to be foiled by Mr. Bingley as he was in no condition for a prolonged walk, and politely deferred.

Mrs. Bennet, unable to contradict the object of such hopes for her family, now found herself with the unenviable task of having to carry a conversation while at the same time trying to excuse herself from that same conversation. Kitty was too busy trimming a bonnet to have time for conversation, and Mary was making a new extract or some such thing. Lydia was at Mr. Wickham's side ostensibly to aid him, though it is more likely he found her excessive attention more of a detriment to his recovery than anything else. That left just Mrs. Bennet, Jane and Mr. Bingley as potential conversationalists and Jane was engaged alternately in concentrating fiercely on her embroidery and in intense contemplation of the floor as if it held the secret to the meaning of life. Mr Bingley was not much better, though Mrs. Bennet was prepared to forgive him his monosyllabic answers seeing as his chief pastime was staring at Jane.

"It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away," said Mrs. Bennet.

He readily agreed to it.

"I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People did say you meant to quit the place entirely at Michaelmas; but, however, I hope it is not true. A great many changes have happened in the neighbourhood, since you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled. And one of my own daughters, though you made your congratulations to her yourself yesterday, did you not? And too, you must have seen it in the papers. It was in the Times and the Courier, I know; though it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said, "Lately, George Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet," without there being a syllable said of her father, or the place where she lived, or any thing. It was my brother Gardiner's drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to make such an awkward business of it. Did you see it?" Insensible to the feelings of others as always, Mrs. Bennet had brought the conversation around to the topic every other member of the party most wished to avoid. On being reminded of the previous day, Kitty gave a small squeak and ran from the room barely remembering to excuse herself; Mary satisfied herself with giving Mr. Bingly a stern, disapproving look to communicate that she did not approve of fighting; and Mr. Bingley himself was barely able to mumble an affirmative to both questions before beginning a minute examination of the pattern of the carpet at his feet.

This finally drew from Jane the exertion of speaking, which nothing else had so effectually done before – her desire to assuage Mr. Bingley's discomfort completely conquered her own embarrassment; and she asked Bingley whether he meant to make any stay in the country at present, as she had understood him to be bound for town.

Hearing the voice of his beloved directed at him gave Bingley the determination to raise his eyes from the floor, and he answered that he found himself quite unable to travel for at least a few more days, and so would take this opportunity of attending to some of his interests in the area.

It is probable that Jane was the only person in the room to comprehend the first reason for his delay – neither she nor Mr. Bennet had mentioned Mr. Bingley's injury to any other. She now found all her anxiety on behalf of his health renewed, and she attempted to surreptitiously scan his features and bearing for any sign of illness. Now she understood why he had arrived in his carriage rather than on horseback, which was his preferred method of transportation, and why he had refused to walk when he never had before.

Bingley was not insensible to Miss Bennet's worried glances, and resolved to make an effort to converse with her directly however, it seemed that there were no suitable topics. He could not discuss his business in Hertfordshire, and she would think him daft if he began to speak at length on the weather.

Jane had made a similar resolution, and decided that even if Miss Bingley had severed their acquaintance, it would still be impolite not to inquire after her health. With some confusion that she could not comprehend, Bingley assured her of his sisters' continuing health, informing her that they were currently visiting some relations in the north of the country. After this another awkward pause ensued, and Mrs. Bennet, completely unable to waste the occasion suddenly got up, and saying to Kitty, "Come here, my love, I want to speak to you," took her out of the room, intending to return for Mary in a few minutes to avoid suspicion.

Bingley did not need to wait for Mary to leave the room for him to begin the work of apologizing to Miss Bennet for the slight he had unintentionally paid her in the winter, "I understand from your father that you spent several months in Town this winter. Did you enjoy your time there?"

Jane was much surprised by this, and managed to stammer, "I did, my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner are very kind, and have such dear children that I could not fail to take pleasure in such a visit."

A quick glance at Mary confirmed to Mr. Bingley that she was too much involved in her studies to pay them any attention, so he leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice, "Please allow me to apologize for not calling on you then; Caroline quite neglected to inform me that you had called to see her." He was pleased to see the flush spreading over her cheeks and the slight intake of breath this statement had caused; she could not have misunderstood his intentions.

Despite his encouragement, Jane could not allow herself to believe that Mr. Bingley might still care for her. _His manners are just so pleasing and he is so amiable. He would have called on any of his acquaintance that were in town._ Composing herself to speak evenly she replied that he was very kind but no apology was necessary, she had not expected such a courtesy from an acquaintance of such short time.

Could she really have not understood him? Drawing a deep breath, he reminded himself that he had come to win her affections, and that Mr. Bennet believed that he had already done so. _It is not as if I can blame her for feeling insecure about my regard. I have been a most indifferent lover, abandoning her with no word for nearly a year._ He steeled himself to continue, and in the same low voice said, "Of course, it is a lady's prerogative to define the relationship between herself and a gentleman, but I would have thought that we were more than slight acquaintances. Indeed, had I known of your presence I could not have kept myself away, even if Caroline had managed to convince me that you did not return my regard."

Jane's eyes widened and her mouth formed an 'O' of surprise, but before she could formulate a response, the moment was broken by a thud from the other side of the drawing room. Mary had not been as insensible to their conversation as Bingley had thought and was now staring between the two apparently torn between joy and consternation at Bingley's plain speech.

Rising carefully to avoid aggravating his wound, Bingley sought to take control of the situation as best as he was able, "Miss Mary, I beg you will excuse me, but I desire to speak to your sister in private for a few moments. Would you perhaps be so kind as to go and speak to your father, I promise your sisters reputation is in no danger from me, and we will not be long."

Mary acquiesced to the entirety of Bingley's request, understanding that in such a situation it would be better for her to take refuge in her father's study than to risk discovery by her mother. If Mrs. Bennet knew that Mr. Bingley and Jane had been left alone for even two minutes, it would be impossible to convince her that they were not engaged. It was improper to leave them unattended, but informing her father of the situation would satisfy her sense of duty, and if Mr. Bingley did not propose, her father could deal with the situation more effectively than her hysterical mother.

Finally alone, Bingley turned back to Jane and seated himself directly across from her to be able to look into her face while still giving her space so she would not feel pressured by him. Her features were still showing astonishment, and not a little disbelief. "Sir, please explain yourself," only a slight waver in her voice betrayed her sternness.

"Your wish is my command, madam. Where shall I start?"

Jane found his aplomb slightly disconcerting, but started with demanding an explanation for what she had judged the most surprising revelation. "What do you mean 'even if Caroline had managed to convince me that you did not return my regard' for you cannot possibly have believed me indifferent to you?"

"I am ashamed to say that I did. As you know, my family and Mr. Darcy followed me to Town last autumn, and once there Caroline represented to me most strenuously that I had deceived myself in regards to your affection. At the time I believed you to be such close friends that I thought you must have confided in her. What must you think of me to be admitting this? But I never thought myself deserving of your regard, you are so kind to everyone, why should I assume your kindness to me and acceptance of my attentions meant anything?"

Just as nobody wishes to speak ill of the dead, few are willing to impugn the gravely ill, and Bingley did not mention that Darcy had subtly hinted to him that he thought similarly to Caroline. Of course, it was not a topic that could be canvassed comfortably, but Bingley had understood the meaning, and it served to lend weight to his sister's arguments.

"I…I thought you left because you did not desire my attentions. Yesterday, you looked so alarmed upon seeing me; I could not understand why you returned when you so clearly desired nothing more than to be out of my presence" Jane buried her face in her hands, but in moments found those hands being drawn away by Mr. Bingley. He was sitting next to her, and as he claimed each of her hands he brought it to his lips, kissing away the tears on her palms.

"When I returned to town, my only goal was to speak to Mr. Wickham about some difficulties he had caused for Mr. Darcy, I had not expected to meet with you in the lane, it is true. But I returned to Longbourn today because of you; I came to ask your father permission to court you." As he spoke he moved his thumbs in small circles in the center of Jane's palms, delighting in the feeling of just holding her hands in his own.

Jane could make no answer, and was once again studying the floor, but Bingley was too far gone to retreat now; he released one of her hands, and suddenly she felt a gentle but firm grip on her chin, forcing her to look at him. If the pleading look in his eyes had not been enough to remove what little doubt Jane had left his next words would have done so, "Miss Bennet…no, _Jane_, I will do anything to atone for my mistakes. Your words suggest that I have been wrong in thinking that you did not care for me, and if my actions caused you half as much pain as I suffered in believing such I will never forgive myself, but do you think that someday you could come to forgive me – that one day you might consent to make me the happiest of men by becoming my bride?"

Jane's sobs redoubled at this point, and Bingley was forced to surrender her hand in order to offer his handkerchief. The loss of the touch of her skin left him as bereft as the thought that she cried now from vexation, but she soon looked back at him, joy shining from her eyes, "You are already forgiven, I never attached any blame to you."

Bingley's elation at these words can scarcely be described, and on impulse he renewed his proposals, which the lady gladly accepted. With a quick kiss to her cheek, a privilege that he reveled in, he excused himself to speak to Mr. Bennet. Before Jane could organize her thoughts sufficiently to go to her mother, Mrs. Bennet opened the door with the intention of summoning Mary out of the room. Finding her eldest daughter in tears, she immediately went into hysterics, and was insensible before Jane could even begin to explain the truth of the matter.

Mr. Bennet was no less surprised than his wife to see Mr. Bingley again so soon, but perhaps bore it better. Nevertheless, he did not regret that the upheaval his wife's swoon caused curtailed Mr. Bingley's effusions on Jane's myriad charms. Needless to say, it was impossible for Bingley to remain at Longbourn when the house was in such confusion, so bidding his dear Jane – how he loved being able to address her as such – a fond farewell, he mounted into his carriage, only then realizing that for the last half hour he had completely forgotten the ache in his side and Mr. Darcy's ailment.

* – cognitive psychology actually provides some proof for something like this, though for the life of me I can't remember where I read it. If I remember correctly it said something on the lines of cursing in times of extreme pain not being entirely under conscious control, and that as people come to cease to think of a word as a curse it gets replaced by a stronger word in the same situation i.e. you might say drat or crap when you're younger and then later in life could move to damn and shit. OK, mini-lecture over, Even if I'm wrong, there is a certain relief that comes from using strong language in painful situations, at least for me.

**AN: Thanks to all my reviewers for the encouragement. I'm curious about your thoughts on my interpretation of Mr. Bennet. In most ways I see him as negligent, but if he has enough gumption to urge Lizzy to refuse Mr. Darcy (and his fortune) I think he would be capable of attempting to protect Jane as well. Back to London for the next chapter! Thoughts, suggestions? All constructive comments (positive or otherwise) are always welcome!**


	10. Anticipation and Tedium

The next day was one of unmitigated and frustrated anticipation within the Gardiner household. The pain of suspense was not confined within those walls, however; Colonel Fitzwilliam was so completely distracted waiting for any news of his cousin that by mid-morning General ---- took him to task for it. When the Colonel apologized, explaining some part of his worry over his cousin's health, General ---- scolded him further. "What the devil are you doing here, man? Go home and see to your family! His Majesty's army will function without for a few days, I daresay. I do not want to see your face here again until the matter is resolved – one way or the other." This last was said under his breath, and was obviously not meant to be overheard.

Fitzwilliam thanked the general heartily and immediately left for Darcy's townhouse to change out of his regimentals before traveling on to Gracechurch Street. He left word at the townhouse for Bingley, since he expected him to return from Hertfordshire at some point during the day. Now that he did not even have to make the attempt to concentrate on his duties, worry over the blood-spatter on Bingley's missive was able to find a place in the colonel's thoughts just behind his concern over Darcy. His concern for both men increased steadily over the course of the afternoon as Bingley failed to arrive or send word of a delay, and Darcy's condition showed no change.

The general's action in dismissing his colonel to attend to his family concerns was motivated by fellow-feeling and the kindest of intentions, but Fitzwilliam had reason to regret it by the end of the day; there was nothing else he could do to affect Darcy's recovery, little comfort he could offer to Georgiana that she did not receive from either Miss Bennet or Mrs. Gardiner, and no occupation that could hold his attention for more than a few minutes. Mr. Gardiner was occupied with seeing to his business; Mrs. Gardiner was engaged in entertaining her children and seeing to the comfort of her guests; Georgiana could not be separated from her brother's side and would converse with no one unless asked a direct question, for most of the day she read Darcy and nursed him as best she could, spending much of her time reading to him out of his favorite books; and Miss Bennet was left to sleep into the early afternoon – the colonel was not surprised that the disturbance of the night before and her faithful attendance on Georgiana had taken quite a toll on the normally lively young woman – but after she woke she too had activity in assisting Mrs. Gardiner. Colonel Fitzwilliam felt that he alone of the entire household was suffering from the want of employment, though in truth the bustle and intensity of the others as they went about their various tasks could be almost wholly attributed to the inability of an anxious mind to suffer a still body. He paced the drawing room incessantly after reading the first page of the newspaper five times through without comprehending a single word.

It was Elizabeth who would first notice and then finally devise a way to relieve him of some of his tension. She remembered how she felt when preparing to leave Lambton after receiving word of Lydia's elopement. At that moment, Elizabeth felt that had she been at leisure to be idle, she would have remained certain that all employment was impossible to one so wretched as herself; but she had her share of business, and having a purposeful exertion – not just the distraction of a book, but an essential task to complete – had soothed her nerves if only for a short time. With that in mind, she gathered the two youngest Gardiners – two year-old Jane and four year-old Richard – and brought them into the parlor.

"Forgive me for intruding on you, Colonel, but I find I must ask a favor of you. Mrs. Gardiner has solicited my help with teaching Alice, her eldest, French, and I cannot attend the younger children at the same time. Would you mind terribly if I left them with you for a few moments?"

He replied that he was glad to be of some use and after all that had been done for Darcy of late it was the very least he could do, and begged to be introduced to his new charges. Little Jane was quite shy and hid her face in Elizabeth's skirts when she was introduced, but she soon settled herself happily on the floor playing with her favorite doll thoroughly ignoring the colonel's presence. Richard was in awe at being introduced to a real colonel, though he was skeptical at first as Fitzwilliam was not in his red coat. Once convinced that Fitzwilliam was indeed a soldier, however, he instantly began begging for a few tales. Had the colonel ever been abroad? What was Spain like? And France? Those and two-dozen other questions tumbled out of his mouth in quick succession before Fitzwilliam could even begin to formulate an answer for the first. Finally, when the boy paused for breath, the colonel scooped him up, placed him firmly on his lap, and began answering the last question Richard had voiced, an amused smile creasing his eyes.

Elizabeth slipped out of the room quietly, pleased with the success of her scheme; Colonel Fitzwilliam would be agreeably occupied for some time.

In the evening Colonel Fitzwilliam reluctantly returned to Darcy's townhouse. He had spent several pleasant hours entertaining Richard, dined with the family – Georgiana once again declined leaving her brother's side – and visited with his cousins briefly before finally admitting to himself that his remaining in Gracechurch Street would be of no benefit to anybody, including himself. Before his departure Elizabeth took a moment to tell him of her conference with Georgiana the previous night. "I felt I could not deny her the right to know all, sir, but at the same time I consider myself obliged to report to you as her guardian, I hope you do not judge me too harshly for presuming to interfere so." Fitzwilliam thanked her for her consideration and promptly forgave her. "I believe you have the right of it, Miss Elizabeth, and I only regret that I had not the courage to tell her myself." He took his leave then, uncertain if he would be able to find sleep that night, but glad at least for the opportunity to vent his frustrations in private – it would not due to wear a hole in the Gardiner's carpet and disturb the sleep of the whole household with his pacing all night.

After having spent the majority of the day asleep, Elizabeth felt that retiring at a normal hour would be futile, and instead bent her efforts to persuading Georgiana to sleep, as she had only had a few short hours since being dosed with laudanum two days earlier. Georgiana steadfastly refused to leave her brother's side, or to take a full dose – she did not want to be so deeply asleep that she could not be roused if something were to occur – but when Elizabeth promised to both stay with her and her brother, and to wake her should there be any change, she consented to half the normal dose.

When Georgiana had changed into her nightclothes she returned settled herself on the divan. Without prompting, Elizabeth began singing softly as she had two nights before, and Georgiana fell asleep with a soft smile on her lips.

The night was not a pleasant one for Elizabeth. The patient's condition did change, but whether for better or worse she could not tell. In the entire time she had been in attendance he had not moved, she had not discerned even so much as a flutter of the eyelids or the twitch of a finger. Tonight, however, she noticed his hands making small spasmodic motions as if trying to grasp something, and he was breathing shallowly and more rapidly than before.

Indecision was not a familiar sensation to Elizabeth, but she experienced it now in full force. Could this change be the antidote taking effect at last, or was she witnessing the final throes of a dying man? She understood from her uncle and Colonel Fitzwilliam that they did not know what to expect of the antidote that had been administered the night before, but now that it had been given there was nothing more to be done. Before she could decide whether to wake her uncle, however, the motions ceased and his breathing slowly returned to what she had come to consider normal.

Mentally chiding herself for being overly excitable, she moved to assure herself that Georgiana was comfortable and well and truly asleep.

* * *

Darkness and pain swirled around him, tossing him as carelessly as a ship in a hurricane. It seemed ages since the world had contained anything else for him but this endless confusion. Just when the weight of the darkness felt like it would crush him, the pain would shatter it, and his world became filled with hot, bright flashes of agony. Lately, it seemed that the oppressive void was winning, but at least it meant a reprieve from the suffering.

Just when the pull of the void threatened to draw him in completely, voices came, gently beckoning him back. The voices came and went irregularly and he never caught any of the words, in fact, he had to struggle just to recognize the speakers. There were a man and woman who he felt he should know but could not name, but for some reason their voices put him in mind of a pleasant walk by a stream on a warm summer day. Then there was Fitzwilliam, strong and reliable Fitzwilliam who could always be trusted in times of trial. Georgiana's voice joined them. That one was harder to resist. But reaching towards the voices meant going closer to the pain, and he did not think he could bear that, even for Georgiana and Fitzwilliam.

Finally came another, sweeter voice, and he tried to place it. It waxed and waned several times, and he still could not recall the name, but then at times he did not even know his own name. When he heard that voice singing softly, he knew only that this voice he could not ignore; he would do anything this it asked of him. Marshaling the last of his willpower, he concentrated on the voice.

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw as his vision cleared made him doubt his senses. Georgiana, looking even more ill than she had in the weeks following Ramsgate, was asleep on a divan and looking down at her with a look of such tenderness on her face that it made his heart ache, stood Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Where was he? What had happened to Georgiana? And how had Miss Elizabeth Bennet come to be here, wherever _here_ was? What was _Elizabeth_ of all people doing in his bedchamber chaperoned only by his sleeping sister? "Elizabeth," he tried to say, but what came out was a hoarse whisper that sounded more like, "Ehhss."

Her head snapped up from her contemplation of his sister's countenance and locked on his own. "Oh!" she cried out, both hands flying to her mouth. The shock of his waking was hardly greater than the intensity of the gaze he had directed at her, and she sat down heavily – it was fortunate she had been standing directly in front of a chair or she likely would have fallen unceremoniously onto the floor – and was completely still for some seconds, recovering herself. She took several gasping breaths, and pressed her hand to her heart before looking away from him. Worried that she might be taken ill Darcy tried to speak again, and made an attempt at sitting up with the intention of assisting her somehow, but she interrupted him, "Shhh, Mr. Darcy. Please do not exert yourself. You have been very ill." While speaking she had begun looking around the room, desperate to prevent him from seeing the relief that must be apparent on her face. How could it be that his awakening affected her so strongly? Feeling able to support herself again she crossed the room to retrieve another blanket to lay over Georgiana, though she was hardly in need of the extra warmth.

As Elizabeth moved still refusing to look at him, Darcy's eyes shifted to his sister. _Why does Georgiana not wake? Is she hurt? _This thought spurred him to try to sit up again but discovered to his dismay that he had not the strength. He must have been very ill indeed to be in such a state. The attempt to move caused a wave of nausea to engulf him, and he must have made some sound, because Elizabeth spun around, seeking his face with a look of fear in her eyes. Why should she be so afraid? Darcy could make no sense of the situation and his gaze moved restlessly between the two women.

Eventually, Elizabeth felt the need to break the silence. Noting his anxious looks towards his sister, she fixed on that topic, "Your sister has been so worried about you we thought she would make herself ill; she has been unable to sleep for some days and consented tonight to a small dose of laudanum to aid her in falling asleep. It will be at least an hour before I would consider trying to wake her, though I will make the attempt if you desire." Elizabeth's tones were carefully neutral, which confused Darcy even more, for she was obviously in some distress.

Though his mind was still sluggish, he eventually managed to process what Elizabeth had said, and found it was a decided relief to understand what was ailing his sister. With some effort he attempted to focus on one of the many other questions that presented themselves, "Where?" he whispered hoarsely. His throat felt raw and dry, and he could not finish the question, but it was enough.

"You fell ill at my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner's, Mr. Darcy, and the physician would not let you be moved." As she spoke, Elizabeth moved towards the door, thinking only to call a servant so that her aunt and uncle might be told of the news. Darcy, far from his normal rational frame of mind, feared that she was leaving him. She must not leave! He could not explain the fear that gripped him at this prospect, but the emotion was too powerful to ignore. "Wait!…Please…don't leave," he managed, pausing to catch his breath. He was so tired, and each word increased the dull fire in the back of his throat.

Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat at his words. With her sister Lydia's disgrace, she had never expected to see him again; his welcoming her presence was beyond her hopes. She could not imagine that he would still love her, and his actions at the moment might be better explained by his illness than any real emotion – it was not to be expected that he would wake in complete command of his faculties – but for now it was enough that he was awake and did not despise her company. Unable to refuse his plea she returned to his side saying kindly, "I will not leave, Mr. Darcy."

The panic Darcy had felt when he thought Elizabeth was leaving receded slowly as he watched her progress across the room back to his side. Trying to order his thoughts once again, he sought for another question. Georgiana! He had left her at Pemberley in the best of health and here she was in London looking terribly ill. "How…long?" he asked.

"More than a week. We had begun to despair of your ever awakening." Elizabeth's voice broke slightly on the last word, and she looked down to hide her confusion.

_Could she be upset for my sake?_ It was beyond imagining. Whatever the reason for her distress, Darcy could not bear to see her upset without attempting to assist. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, obviously trying to say something else. Elizabeth suddenly realized that she had been so busy either staring at him or hiding her face that she had been a very poor nurse indeed. Feeling a flush spread over her cheeks yet again, she apologized for her negligence and retrieved a glass of water from the bedside table. Gently, she lifted his head to help him drink. Then she began feeding him some of the broth and soft bread that had been left in the room for him against the possibility of his waking. It was a strangely tender moment, and probably both were engaged in thoughts of how this scene was more likely to be played out between a husband and wife. It was not long before he could eat no more – not surprising seeing as he had taken no solid food in over a week. As Elizabeth helped him ease head back against the pillows he reached for her hand. His grip was weak, but she made no attempt to pull away. "Thank you." His voice was still weak, but it no longer cracked with every attempt to speak.

Elizabeth was frozen by the look in his eyes. How was it possible that he could be so weak in the body but be possessed of such an intense gaze? For several minutes neither was willing to break the contact of their hands or eyes, but finally he relinquished his grasp.

Though he had been unconscious for eight days, it was not sleep, and Darcy found himself fighting to stay awake. The same insecurity that gripped him when Elizabeth had moved to go into the hall gave him the idea that if he fell asleep he would wake up to find this only a dream. His eyelids felt so heavy, and as he suppressed a yawn, he shook his head slightly trying to chase sleep away.

Elizabeth noticed his struggle. "Mr. Darcy, it is wonderful, indeed it is a miracle, that you have finally awoken, but your body needs proper sleep to heal." She found herself having to suppress a powerful urge place her hand on his forehead as she had when soothing her younger sisters and cousins when they were ill.

Darcy was too exhausted to dissemble, "I am…afraid to sleep."

Taking him to mean that he feared a realapse, Elizabeth replied soothingly, "Hush, Mr. Darcy. You will wake up, and your sister and I will be here waiting when you do." This time it was Elizabeth who claimed Mr. Darcy's hand in one of her own. His openness about his fear broke down the last of her resistance and with her free hand she reached out to him, smoothing back the unruly lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. "Now, rest."

He could refuse Elizabeth nothing, and surrendered to sleep.

* * *

It has long been known that weather has a deep, if sometimes subtle, effect on human emotions. After all, who has not noticed that it is much more difficult to be cheery when trapped inside on a rainy day than when one is free to roam about outside in the sunshine? Despite all of the vaunted progress of civiliation, there is no society in which people do not, at least occasionally, give in to the belief that the weather has some prophetic abilities - bringing omens of things to come.

Therefore, when the next day dawned gray and stormy it is not surprising that Colonel Fitzwilliam experienced a profound sense of foreboding that was probably aided by the headache that had resulted from his much-disturbed sleep. The arrival of the morning post only served to exacerbate his already drawn nerves, as it did not bring any news from Bingley. In his anxiety over the man's failure to appear as planned, Fitzwilliam had posted a letter to Netherfield the night before insisting on being appraised of what had kept him. Any letter from Bingley brought by the post would have by necessity, been written at least the previous evening. But when one is anxious for one's friends and helpless to assist them, reason does not often keep company with hopes and fears. He ruthlessly repressed the urge to send another letter demanding an accounting, and instead took out his frustrations on the piece of ham that should have been serving as his breakfast, all the while mentally cursing Bingley's lackadaisical approach to correspondence, the weather, Wickham, and anything else he could think of.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir, a note has just arrived from Mr. Gardiner, the boy has been told to wait for a response."

The colonel started badly when the butler began speaking – he had not heard the man enter the room – and fairly snatched the note off its tray. "Thank you, Franklin, I will call you when I have prepared my response."

Mr. Franklin had been in the service of the Darcy family for over twenty-five years, and knew what was expected of him, so he affected not to notice how the colonel had gone quite pale, or how his hands shook when holding the letter, and merely said, "Very good, sir," and bowed his exit from the room, though he did not go far in case the news was such that the master's cousin would need assistance.

It was a full minute before Fitzwilliam could bring himself to break the seal, finally managing to convince himself that the strain of uncertainty was more painful than knowing even if it meant the worst had happened. The note was short, and to the point.

_Colonel Fitzwilliam-_

_My niece has informed us that Mr. Darcy woke during the night for some ten or fifteen minutes, and even took some food before falling into what we hope is a more natural sleep. He sleeps still, but we are hopeful that he will wake again soon. The physician has been summoned, and Miss Darcy has requested your presence._

_Yours etc._

_Mr. Edward Gardiner_

Fitzwilliam read through the note three times before trusting his eyes, then he practically ran into the nearest room blessed with writing supplies, and dashed off two quick notes.

To Mr. Gardiner the note simply read: _I am on my way –Henry Fitzwilliam_

His letter to Bingley was rather longer, but just as direct.

_Bingley-_

_Darcy woke in the night! Your assistance proved the key, we are all deeply in your debt. Forgive my terse letter from last night, I was quite agitated by concern for both Darcy and yourself. Write as soon as you are can, and let us know when you will be able to call; I am sure Darcy will be glad to see you. I will write when I have more news._

_Henry Fitzwilliam_

He ran the bell for a footman, and handed him the letters. The first he directed to be handed over to the Gardiner's messenger immediately, and the second sent express to Netherfield. Once again leaving word that should Bingley himself arrive he was to be directed to Gracechurch Street, he called for the carriage and set out praising the heavens that the antidote had worked despite being administered so late. Amid the stormy sky, on a gray London day, Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled broadly, proving that even the weather can be wrong sometimes.

* * *

**AN: So there it was, the chapter that you've all been waiting for. Thanks for all the comments, and for putting up with my rambling notes at the end of the chapters. This one is no different:  
**

**OK, I have never been knocked unconscious, or even concussed, so my portrayal of Darcy waking up is entirely me succumbing to the urge to be melodramatic. Did it work at all, or should I have skipped that bit and put in later (and less dramatically) that it was Elizabeth's voice that he woke to? Love it or hate it, let me know, I am always looking to improve my writing.**

**Also, just so you know, the image of him waking up to see Elizabeth caring for Georgiana is what kept inserting itself into my head trying to work into another story where it did not fit, and is the inspiration for the entire story up to this point. Where I go from here…well I'm not entirely sure yet, but I'll do my best to make it interesting.  
**


	11. Shock

It was still dark outside when Cooper shook his master's shoulder. "Mr. Bingley, sir, wake up. An express just arrived from town for you, sir."

"Mmph," Bingley rubbed the sleep from his eyes and blinked blearily at his valet. "Whas gonon?" he mumbled indistinctly.

"Sir, an express just came from town. You did say you wanted to be told immediately of any news."

The meaning of the words finally registered, and did more to facilitate his wakefulness than having a pitcher of cold water poured over his head would have done. "Yes, yes, thank you Cooper." Bingley shifted to sit on the edge of his bed and suppressed a wince as the motion pulled at his wound. He instantly dismissed the discomfort, impatient to know what news had come. His mind raced convsidering a dozen different possibilities before he even had taken the letter from his valet's hand. Had Wickham lied to him? Perhaps the Colonel had been unable to locate the shop. Or there was no antidote. Had his news been too late, was Darcy gone? Dancing behind all those thoughts was the one he longed to entertain, but dare not indulge: Darcy had woken.

Only a quick glance at the direction of the envelope was sufficient to crush the feeble glimmer of hope he had allowed. It was indeed in Colonel Fitzwilliam's hand, but his normally precise script showed a degree of sloppiness that bespoke distress. _No, not distress_, Bingley realized, wrinkling his nose, _or at least not merely distress. Fitzwilliam must have spilled his drink on the paper; he was clearly well into his cups when he wrote this. _He opened the letter and was not surprised to find that drink had resulted in Fitzwilliam's normal tact being replaced by brusqueness.

_Darcy House, London_

_September 8, 1812_

_Bingley-_

_Where the devil are you, man? I expected you back in town today! There was blood on your letter, are you too hurt to write, should I send a physician down to you? Write soon man, or I think I may go distracted. I have nothing to do but sit and wait. I found the address you sent, and got the antidote, but we do not know how long we must wait to see if it will have any effect at all. I have had nothing to do but sit all day and worry about the pair of you. If I do not hear from you by tomorrow I will send a man looking for you!_

_Yours &tc,_

_Henry Fitzwilliam_

"Cad! Dolt! How could you have been so thoughtless?" Bingley grumbled irritably to himself. Of course he had been expected in Town yesterday, and the sudden fruition of all his hopes with regard to Miss Bennet – _Jane_ – he relished the privilege to use her Christian name – had driven the notion clear out of his mind until evening. When he had arrived home in the evening, he found himself so weary that he had retired almost at once. As if Fitzwilliam did not have enough to worry about with Darcy, he had to go and give him more cause for concern by getting bloody fingerprints on his first letter, and completely neglecting to send a second. "Idiot!"

He sat down at his desk to write a reply. Two hours later, at the time Bingley had asked to be woken for the day, Cooper entered to find his master slumped over his desk and sound asleep. The apothecary had been adamant that Mr. Bingley would need plenty of sleep to recover. The loss of blood alone was enough to account for any undue weakness and unusual sleep patterns, but he had stressed that if Mr. Bingley did not get sufficient sleep, he would be more likely to become feverish. With the aid of a footman, Cooper carefully moved Bingley back to his bed without rousing him, and left him to sleep himself out. In cases such as these, Cooper mused, it was better to ask forgiveness than permission, and the apothecary _did_ say he should be sure to rest.

Shortly after eleven, another express arrived from London. Mr. Nicholls wondered what business Mr. Bingley had that could keep him in Hertforshire while necessitating the exchange of multiple expresses throughout the day, but it was not his job to question his master. The letter was handed to Cooper, who once again roused Mr. Bingley from slumber, this time with the happy news that Darcy had woken. Overjoyed, he returned to his desk and wrote a reply to Colonel Fitzwilliam, informing him that he had indeed been wounded but – aside from being unable to travel for a few more days – was in no danger. He then begged forgiveness for failing to write the day before, and asked that the colonel would inform the Gardiner's and Miss Elizabeth of his engagement to Miss Bennet, with appropriate apologies for not telling them himself. He sent his wishes for Darcy's quick recovery, and promised to return to town to visit as soon as the apothecary had given him leave for the journey. Satisfied with his letter, and too happy to even think of rebuking his valet for not waking him earlier, he set about getting ready to go visit his betrothed.

* * *

The atmosphere in the Gardiner house had changed dramatically in the course of a few hours. Conversations flowed more smoothly, no longer forced, voices were less subdued, and nervous grins were replaced by genuine smiles of pleasure. The children felt the lessening of the tension that had gripped the household for over a week, and laughter once more rang out in the hallways.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had arrived at Gracechurch Street with all haste, and sat with Georgiana waiting for a repeat of last night's miracle. A full night's sleep combined with such happy news had done much to improve her countenance, and the two easily kept a lighthearted conversation going. Fitzwilliam's smile broadened as he realized he had not seen Georgiana so at ease and clearly content since before The Wickham Debacle, as he had privately dubbed Georgiana's near elopement a year ago. He thought Miss Elizabeth probably had as much to do with that as Darcy's recovery. Turning his thoughts back to Darcy, he found he had to suppress a chuckle as he thought what he might call the past week. Perhaps 'The Wickham Debacle: Volume II', or maybe 'The Wickham Debacle: Revenge of the Fallen.'

Georgiana looked curiously at her cousin, but he merely shook his head refusing to divulge the cause for his mirth. She was prevented from dwelling on her disappointment long, as Mr. Darcy chose that moment to regain consciousness. "Georgiana?"

In an instant she was on her knees at his side, clasping one of his hands, "Oh, Fitzwilliam." She stopped, her throat too tight to speak as tears began to flow down her cheeks.

"Well, Cousin, it is kind of you to join us at last," Colonel Fitzwilliam's bluster did not completely conceal his relief and pleasure at Darcy's improvement.

Georgiana had taken that moment to try and dry her tears, but fresh ones continued to form, and she abandoned the attempt in favor of letting her brother draw her head against his chest. His apologies for causing her pain only caused more tears as she tried to explain how happy she was to have her prayers answered. "I don't know what I would do without you, brother."

"God grant that you do not have to contemplate the possibility again for a very long time," he said, stroking her hair.

While this tender scene was taking place abovestairs, the scene was being set for a much less heartwarming scene.

Elizabeth had been unable to determine her feelings for Mr. Darcy even with the majority of a night's reflection on the matter. She had remained awake through the entire night, not wanting Mr. Darcy to wake unobserved, and this exhaustion was probably the only reason she had been able to sleep at all once she had informed her uncle of the events of the night. She woke just before noon, and as soon as she was dressed she resolved to visit the kitchens for some refreshment. Halfway down the stairs she was arrested by sound of the knocker being energetically pounded, and as she gained the ground floor she was greeted by the irate voice of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

"Where is my nephew? I demand to see him at once!"

An older gentleman followed her into the house seconding her appeal with equal force, "Indeed, I must speak with my son immediately."

The harassed-looking maid who had let them in, cast a desperate glance towards Miss Elizabeth, and she quickly took the hint and intervened.

"Lady Caterhine, it is an unexpected pleasure to see you again," she said curtsying.

The lady sniffed and did not deign to make a reply, but the gentleman readily filled the silence, demanding "I must speak with my son this instant, where is he?"

Elizabeth could not prevent the reproach that colored her tone as she replied, "I would be glad to help you, sir, however as I do not have the slightest idea who you are I can hardly be expected to know who your son is, let alone where he is."

It was Lady Catherine who replied, "Insolent girl! How dare you address Lord ---- in such a way! He is the Earl of ---- and does not deserve such treatment as you have shown him."

Deciding it best to pretend that this was a proper introduction, Elizabeth curtsied again, "A pleasure to meet you, sir. I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I am to assume you are looking for Colonel Fitzwilliam? Please, make yourselves comfortable in the parlor while I inform him you are here."

The Earl seemed less than pleased with this idea, and again insisted that he be taken directly to his son. Thankfully, Elizabeth was prevented from the need to formulate the reply by the gentleman in question appearing behind her on the stairs. "Father. Aunt Catherine." He said, a note of steel in his voice that Elizabeth had never heard before. "To what do the Gardiners owe the _honor _of this visit?" He deftly maneuvered himself between his relations and Miss Elizabeth, and she found herself suddenly in possession of a greater understanding of how so amiable a gentleman could have acquitted himself so well in His Majesty's Army.

"Henry, why did you not tell us that Darcy had fallen ill? And in such a place as this," the Earl sniffed disdainfully, and Lady Catherine added an energetic nod. "He must be removed at once to Darcy House where he can be properly seen too. That a nephew of mine would be subject to conditions such as this! How could you have allowed this to happen, Henry? I thought even you had too much sense for this."

"Indeed, nephew, you have neglected your family terribly. How could you slight myself and your Cousin Anne in such a way by not informing us immediately of her betrothed's illness? Happily, we should be able to undo most of your thoughtlessness. I have arranged to abide in Darcy House with Anne to watch over Darcy and Georgiana until such time as he is healthy enough to have his engagement announced. Georgiana will, of course, come to stay at Rosings following the marriage. The newlyweds will wish to be left alone, and she is in dire need of female guidance, especially if she has lately been under the influence of such an unsuitable _lady _as Miss Bennet." She turned to address Elizabeth directly, "I am no stranger to the particulars of your youngest sister's infamous elopement. I know it all; that the young man's marrying her was a patched-up business, at the expense of your father and uncles. And is such a girl to be my niece's friend? Heaven and earth! – of what are you thinking?"

Elizabeth had never known herself capable of such fury, and could not restrain herself any longer, "You have insulted me by every possible manner! How dare you presume so, in the house of my uncle."

"What of your uncle. He is only a tradesman, after all, and you are destined to be no more than a tradesman's wife for all that you had set your cap at my nephew while at Rosings Park. You refused the most eligible offer you will ever receive when you sent away Mr. Collins, though I am glad of it. He is too good a man for you. You have no fortune, and your father's estate will pass to Mr. Collins, leaving you destitute. Do not imagine me to be ignorant of your family's condition! Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to me on that score? You will take me to my nephew at once!"

Fitzwilliam interjected again, fearing that a clash of tempers between his overbearing aunt and the clever Miss Bennet could not end well, "Mr. Jones has said that Darcy is not to be disturbed or subjected to any unnecessary stresses. He is comfortable in the care of Georgiana, and he shall remain so until he is well enough to be removed.

"Not only have you engaged that poor excuse for a physician instead of contacting Dr. White as I expressly recommended, but you have brought Georgiana here! Among such people as this? I always said you were unsuitable as her guardian!" Lady Catherine began moving towards the stairs as she spoke, but Colonel Fitzwilliam blocked her passage. "Do not gainsay me, Henry; Georgiana will be removed from your careless custody this moment."

"I agree with my sister, Henry. I always thought your Uncle George was wrong in appointing you her guardian instead of your elder brother Richard or myself," Lord ---- said. "Now enough of this, bring my niece here, and have the servants make preparations to remove Darcy to his own house."

"No," Fitzwilliam answered flatly.

The Earl's face began to take on an alarming shade of red as he faced his defiant son. "No? No! You dare oppose me? We have discussed your willful behavior before; if you fail to obey me on this, you will be cut off."

Elizabeth saw Colonel Fitzwilliam go pale, but he squared his shoulders and set his jaw firmly, "So be it, then. From the day of Uncle Darcy's death my first duty has been to Georgiana as her guardian, above and beyond anything that is owed to you, sir, or to you, Aunt."

For the first time in her acquaintance with the woman, Elizabeth had the pleasure of seeing Lady Catherine speechless. From her few moments of observing Lord ---- she suspected that his lack of words was equally notable. But the silence did not last long, before the two began their attacks once again. After a few minutes heated argument between the trio before her – during which Elizabeth occasionally found cause to support the Colonel – no progress had been made. The best that could be said was that the Earl and his sister had been prevented from advancing more than five feet from the front door.

The commotion had early attracted the notice of Mrs. Gardiner, and she sent word to her husband at his warehouses. He returned with all possible speed, and burst in the door during yet another of Lady Catherine's furious diatribes against Elizabeth.

"Uncle!" Elizabeth exclaimed with relief as he walked around his uninvited visitors to support his niece, who was pale with a combination of anger and anxiety.

"My dear, are you well? Perhaps you should go upstairs and see to our guests?"

"Absolutely not!" exclaimed Lady Catherine at the same moment that Lord ---- said, "I will not have that…" he paused, obviously censoring his words, "that chit in company with my niece."

A dark look crossed Mr. Gardiner's face as he spun to face the noble pair, "And I will not suffer such insults to my family within my own house. If you are not prepared to be civil you will leave here at once and not return!" Mr. Gardiner was an good-natured man, not prone to outbursts of temper, but he could not be silent at such an affront especially when he saw Elizabeth's pallor.

"Do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such language as this. I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person's whims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment."

"That will make your ladyship's situation at present more pitiable; but it will have no effect on me," rejoined Mr. Gardiner.

"I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence…"

"I will do no such thing. This is _my_ home, and I will not tolerate your presence a moment longer if you cannot comport yourselves as propriety and common decency require."

"I will not leave without my niece and nephew," Lord ---- joined the conversation again.

"You will not leave with them, sir." Mr. Gardiner took a step towards the Earl. Edward Gardiner was not a tall man, but he was of an equal height to Lord ----, at least twenty years his junior, less inclined to partake of rich food, and more disposed to physical activity, so the Earl found himself taking an involuntary step backwards.

"I never…Well….Never before…such disgraceful…" Recovering himself he continued, "You would do well to consider what you are doing. If you persist in such foolishness, I will personally ruin you," he looked between his younger son and Mr. Gardiner, "_both_ of you, and the Bennet family as well. Miss Bennet, you had best convince your uncle to be more reasonable. Perhaps if you desist in your stubbornness, I may see fit to help you find a position as a governess, but do not think that I will not act against all of you if you continue to oppose me."

"You will take no action of the kind." The pointed reply came from an unexpected quarter, and the entire party looked up the stairs to see a very pale Mr. Darcy supported by two servants, an anxious Georgiana hovering behind him, all but out of view. It seemed the argument had been loud enough to reach the invalid's room. "I am deeply indebted to the Gardiners for their solicitous care, as well as for seeing to Georgiana's comfort. If you seek legal redress against them or any of their connections, I _will_ counter. You may be a peer, Uncle, but we both know that I have the means to see you bankrupt. The estate at ---- is nothing to Pemberley, and your careless management has reduced it still further. Throw off Henry if you will, I will see him well provided for. And no court in the country will take Georgiana from my care." His voice grew more even sharper as he continued, "No matter the station of the people who cared for me, they deserve nothing but your thanks for caring for a relation for whom you profess such concern. If you will repay kindness with hostility and abuse then you had best leave. NOW!" He bellowed the last word, and the pair it was directed at flinched visibly. Even Elizabeth started appreciably; the look of anger he had released terrified her, and she clutched at her uncle's arm for support, not knowing where to look.

Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes at her nephew as the Earl tried to salvage what was left of his dignity as was possible while affecting a quick retreat. Darcy maintained his hauteur until the moment after the door shut behind them and then suddenly sagged, his head drooping and breathing heavily.

Immediately the colonel and Mr. Gardiner were at his side, replacing the servants and supporting him back to bed while gently scolding him for having exerted himself so. He went willingly, feeling the cost of his actions acutely, but unable to regret them. _How could I ever have thought the Bennet family unsuitable when my family is every bit as atrocious, if in different ways. Could they really believe that they could take Georgiana from my care? And to insult the family that nursed me – to insult _Elizabeth_ – in such a way is unconscionable_. He did not dwell long on the topic, however, as not a full minute passed between his regaining his bed and falling asleep.

"Henry!" Georgiana's anxious voice called up the stairs as the men finished settling Mr. Darcy.

Fearing his aunt had returned to remove Georgiana forcibly, Colonel Fitzwilliam flew out of the chamber and down the stairs. What he found was not what he feared, but no less disturbing; the combination of anger, anxiety and fright occasioned by Lady Catherine, Lord ----, and Darcy respectively had overcome Elizabeth. When her uncle had left her to assist Mr. Darcy, she had sat down on the spot and begun to tremble and did not respond at all to Georgiana, causing the young woman to experience a good deal of fear for her friend.

Fitzwilliam knelt at her side and attempted to soothe her as much as propriety could allow, but finally gave up as it seemed nothing could penetrate whatever barrier her mind had erected after such a shock. Gently, he gathered her in his arms – only to be further distressed by the lack of any kind of resistance – and brought her to her chambers, shaking his head slightly at Mr. Gardiner's silent question as they passed in the hall. Miss Darcy, showing initiative on her friend's behalf, came into Elizabeth's room a minute later holding the small bottle of laudanum that the physician had prescribed for her own use. Silently she held it out to Mrs. Gardiner, who had by then joined the men in her niece's room. It took only moment of deliberation before Mrs. Gardiner administered a few drops of the bitter liquid to quiet her.

Leaving Darcy and Elizabeth to the ministrations of Georgiana and Mrs. Gardiner, Mr. Gardiner and Colonel Fitzwilliam repaired to the small room Mr. Gardiner used as a study.

Colonel Fitzwilliam immediately began apologizing for the behavior of his father and aunt, but Mr. Gardiner stopped him quickly. "We cannot choose our relatives, my lad. We must take them as God gives them to us and love and accept them as they are."

"Wise words, sir, and kind. I thank you. Still, as soon as he is fit enough to be moved, I think it best that we get him back to Darcy House. I would not wish you or your family to undergo anymore strain than they have already. I hope Miss Elizabeth takes no lasting harm. She stood up well to my aunt on several occasions last Easter, and I confess myself surprised to find her in such a state."

"I am sure she will be fine, she is a healthy and strong young woman. But surviving Lady Catherine alone can be nothing to being in the company of an incensed Lady Catherine, and four exceedingly angry men."

"I had not thought of it like that. In that light I think I should rescind my previous comments and instead praise her for her fortitude. If we had more soldiers with her courage, Napoleon would not frighten me one jot! "

After several minutes of pleasant, if subdued, conversation, a maid came bearing a letter. "Sir, this jus' come for the Colonel." She handed the letter to her master and left with a quick curtsy.

Fitzwilliam eagerly opened the letter, and saw at an instant that it was from Bingley. Moving closer to the window for more light to use in deciphering the scrawl before him, he sat silently for a full two minutes perusing the short note.

From the crease of concentration on the colonel's forehead Mr. Gardiner suspected it might be more bad news, and was surprised when he first sighed with relief and then let out a whoop of laughter. "It seems I have some good news to tell you, Mr. Gardiner," he said smiling broadly.

"Oh? I cannot imagine how a letter to you could bring good news for me, do enlighten me."

Fitzwilliam could not resist teasing his host a little, "Well, on second thought, you must me right. Almost all of our mutual connections are currently under this roof. It was silly of me to think that you would be interested in news from a friend in Hertfordshire." He made to get up and leave the room.

"Indeed, almost all," Mr. Gardiner replied in kind. "I am forced to suppose then that the letter is from your aunt's parson, Mr. Collins. Has he condoned to offer you his sage advice?"

Fitzwilliam laughed at the thought of what such a letter would contain, "Surely you cannot think that, sir, for this letter is barely a page long. The insightful Mr. Collins would hardly deprive me of his wisdom by limiting himself so severely."

Mr. Gardiner could not contain his mirth at such an accurate portrayal of the man, and the two laughed for some time. When Colonel Fitzwilliam finally gained enough control of himself to speak tolerably he said, "No, this information is much more enjoyable than a letter from Mr. Collins; it is from my good friend, alerting that he has just become engaged to a young lady whom you know well. Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet have come to an understanding in the last few days. He wishes he could tell you himself, but as he is unable to travel at the moment due to a minor injury he did not want to deprive you all of the felicitous news."

"Unable to travel, and probably unwilling as well," Mr. Gardiner said with a grin.

"Indeed. I shall leave it to you to inform the rest of your household. If you will excuse me I would like to check on my cousins."


	12. On the Mend

The next morning found both patients in Gracechurch Street proclaiming their health to their relations. Only one of them prevailed and was allowed out of their room that morning; Mr. Jones had left strict orders the night before that Darcy was under no circumstances to be allowed to leave his bed until the doctor had given his express permission. To the joy of her family, Elizabeth presented a smiling countenance at the breakfast table, and her shock the day before was written off by everybody as just the effects of a difficult situation coming directly on the heels of a very distressing week. Even Mr. Jones, who had been kind enough to offer his professional opinion on the matter, concurred that the likelihood of any recurrence was very small.

Once assured that his niece would not be endangered by the surprise, Mr. Gardiner resolved to share the happy news Colonel Fitzwilliam had imparted to him the previous day as they sat at breakfast. After preparing them for an announcement be began with a smile, "I am sure you will hear of this soon enough, but as it is my power to give you both some joy when we have been sadly lacking in it, I find I cannot resist."

"While he was here yesterday, Colonel Fitzwilliam received a letter express. I wager you cannot guess from whom it came," he grinned widely as his audience indicated they could not, and entreated him to stop dallying. "Actually, Lizzy, it was from an acquaintance of yours." This drew even more surprised looks, and a confused glance between aunt and niece as Lizzy wracked her memories for acquaintances she and Colonel Fitzwilliam had in common. She blanched when her mind lit on Mr. Collins, and without thinking she blurted his name, only to be relieved by her uncle's hearty laugh. "No, my dears, it was not Mr. Collins. I have the great pleasure to be able to inform you that Mr. Bingley and our Jane are engaged."

The surprise and delight of the ladies was every bit what he could hope for, with one exception: they immediately began plaguing him for details he did not possess.

Seeking some small respite he cried out "Upon my honor, I do not know any more than I have already said, except that Mr. Bingley apologizes for not waiting to impart the news more traditionally. Apparently the colonel expected Mr. Bingley to return from Netherfield two days ago, and Mr. Bingley wrote to explain his delay. He has a most agreeable excuse, in my mind. I find I cannot at all hold it against him that he did not return promptly. I expect you both will receive letters from Jane in the next day or two to, um, _officially_ inform you."

He was correct, of course; the morning post brought two letters from Jane, one each for Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner. Immediately Elizabeth declared her intention to spend the morning in composing a proper response to such wonderful news.

Elizabeth's desire express her elation at this event to sister was genuine, and she truly desired to write the letter, but in the back of her mind was the traitorous thought that attending her correspondence was a convenient distraction to keep her from dwelling on Mr. Darcy. The events of the day before had unsettled her, and would take more than a few brief minutes of thought, and such indulgences had to be left for what few solitary moments she had. She had only been able to determine two things this morning whie dressing for breakfast. First was that the look of pure fury on his face had frightened her more so than Lady Catherine and the Earl of ---- combined. Second, and more worrisome, was that she feared that he would come to repent of his harsh words to his relations, and regret his association with her family; such a breach within one's family could not but be distressing, and furthermore once recovered and removed from constant association with the Gardiners, his family's arguments might begin to hold more weight for him. _Let me first see how he behaves_, she thought, _no proper conclusion can be reached before then, and no benefit can be derived from worrying about it overmuch_.

Putting off deciphering her feelings for Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth allowed herself to be pleasantly distracted first by her letter, and then by her young cousins who enlisted her participation in their games, and overall had a very pleasant day – the first in a long time.

* * *

Darcy was no so blessed as to have equal felicity in his situation as the physician adamantly refused to let him leave his bed. While Mr. Gardiner and Colonel Fitzwilliam had chided him for his exertions the previous day, they were generally kind about it as they could plainly see at the time that he was already suffering because of it. Mr. Jones was not so sanguine about it, and thoroughly took him to task for his foolhardiness before giving explicit orders that he was not to even to consider leaving his bed again without express permission to do so. "We do not yet know how this whole situation has affected your body, and until we do you _will_ proceed with caution, or I will have you locked in your chambers and guarded by two men until such time as you are well."

Mr. Jones had been Darcy's physician for nearly fifteen years, and he knew that this threat was only half in jest, so with as much grace as could be mustered from a prone position, he vowed to follow the physician's instructions to the letter.

Mollified only slightly, Mr. Jones then proceeded to ask in minute detail about the previous day. Darcy had no wish to remember the weakness or the vertigo he had felt, but related the whole as best as he could remember it. Satisfied with the account, Mr. Jones repeated his instruction to stay abed, and promised to call again on the morrow. He was beginning allow himself to adopt a cautious optimism that his patient might in time recover.

Darcy dozed again lightly, and woke to find Georgiana sitting next to him. True to her Darcy blood, she was engrossed in a book, and did not notice his gaze or contented smile until she looked up to adjust the lamp behind her. When she did see him awake, her answering smile was dazzling, and she immediately set down her book.

The day before Darcy had spent mostly in sleep, and when he was awake, emotions were too high on all sides to admit any commonplace conversations. Beyond the few words exchanged just after he woke up for the second time little had been spoken, but there were entire conversations contained within the looks they exchanged and the gentle reassuring pressure as they clasped each other's hand.

Today, however, he wanted to know all that had happened. Especially how he had come to be in the Gardiners. His last memory was of pacing his library the night before Wickham's wedding, not that he could bring up that subject with his sister, but he had to start somewhere and her tale would give him some idea of what he should ask Fitzwilliam, so he asked how long she had been at the Gardiners. He had expected her narrative to be rather limited to what had happened in her presence, but was surprised at the comprehensive story she told him, starting from the morning of the wedding – that she would willingly, and apparently without difficulty, converse on such a subject was astounding in itself – and detailing the entire affair up until the previous afternoon.

At the end of her recitation he was dumbfounded. When had his shy sister become this self-assured young woman? And what had inspired Henry to share such details with her? If anything his cousin was more protective of Georgiana than he was, especially in matters such as this.

Georgiana interpreted his silence as an attempt to fully comprehend what had occurred, and waited patiently for some sign that he was ready continue the conversation. It took some time in coming, as Darcy's marveling at his sister's composure at first distracted him from the content of her narrative. She was aware of the exact moment that he began to understand what had happened, because the relaxed, if slightly perplexed, look on his face was replaced with the inscrutable mask he put on when he was out in society and did not want others to know what he was thinking.

Finally, he let out a huff of air. "Wickham," he said quietly and resignedly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself as his thoughts ran on, _And I cannot do anything without bringing scandal down upon the Bennets. _He shook his head at the futility of it, _Enough of that, time to turn the conversation before I am tempted to ride to Hertfordshire to call him out for his actions!_

"Yes, Wickham" Georgiana agreed, her soft voice reminding him that he was not alone. He opened his eyes to see a hint of steel in her countenance, though a tear had left a glistening trail down her cheek. "He has caused such pain and trouble for the last time. He will go up north with the regulars, and Cousin Henry will make sure his commander knows what sort of man he has. He will not be allowed harm anybody again. I just wish…" She trailed off, looking down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap, more tears falling down her cheeks.

Thinking she was reflecting again on the events at Ramsgate he said kindly, "Oh, dearest, I am sorry for what you have suffered because of that man." He reached out to brush away the moisture with his thumb, letting his palm rest on her cheek.

"Fitzwilliam, I do not cry for myself, it is just so awful to think that Lizzy is forced to bear him as her brother. And her poor sister Lydia, what will her life be?"

"I don't know," he said, and then in a slightly surprised tone, "_Lizzy?_" his brow quirked quizzically. As far as he could recall, only her family and closest friends had called her that. Georgiana smiled self-consciously and but not reply beyond a slight nod of her head. Realizing this was the perfect opportunity to ask the question that he most wanted the answer to he drew his sister's attention back from her contemplation of her hands. "Georgiana, tell me, how _did _Miss Bennet come to be here?"

Georgiana knew how attached her brother was to Elizabeth, and forbore to tease him on his failed attempt to sound casual. "She arrived two days ago. I think that Mrs. Gardiner wrote to her for my sake. I made myself quite sick worrying over you." Darcy shook his head and tried to interject an apology, which Georgiana quickly dismissed, saying that Wickham's actions were not his fault. "I am very grateful to Mrs. Gardiner, she was right, to write to her niece. Not even Mrs. Annesley or Cousin Henry could bring me to my see reason, but Lizzy was so kind and unassuming. I don't know what I would have done without her."

Darcy patted his sister's hand affectionately, asserting his gladness that she had had somebody to buoy her spirits during such a trying time. "I know how disappointed you were when she had to leave Derbyshire so abruptly, I am glad you have had the chance to further your acquaintance, though I could have wished such an event would have taken place in different circumstances."

They spoke together on less exciting topics for several minutes more when Darcy's voice trailed off in the middle of a sentence, apparently asleep. Georgiana patted his hand, adjusted his blankets, and went back to her book.

* * *

That evening, while Colonel Ftizwilliam was visiting with the invalid, Elizabeth and Georgiana sat together sharing news of their siblings. After Elizabeth finished expressing her pleasure in Mr. Darcy's continued recover (with proper reserve, of course) she told of her letter from her sister Jane that morning. "Oh, it is so wonderful that your sister is to marry Mr. Bingley. He is such a kind man, and from all that you have said of your sister I am certain they will do very well together. I do hope I can make her acquaintance some day."

"I am sure you shall, after all your brother and Mr. Bingley are in company often." Elizabeth paused, seeking the proper words for what she had to say next, for she had come to a decision earlier that day, "I…" she faltered slightly and began again, "that is, you are looking much recovered, I am glad to see you looking so well again." Georgiana thanked her friend, who then continued, "I would also venture to guess that you and Mr. Darcy will be removing back to your own house soon."

"Probably as soon as Mr. Jones gives him leave to get out of bed," Georgiana confirmed, and then waited patiently; Elizabeth obviously had something to say, and she was not going to make the task any harder for her.

"I hope you will not think too unkindly of me, then, when I confess that I feel I should be with my family at this time. I know I had originally planned to stay until you were able to remove back to your own house, but now, well, my mother can be a little over exuberant, and my sister Jane is too kind to check her greatly. I fear I am not there to help temper mama's spirits, Jane will find herself in possession of enough lace to fit out all the ladies of the _ton_ for the entire season." She gave a little chuckle here, though it was motivated more by embarrassment than true amusement, it became a true laugh after Georgiana began to giggle in response to her description of her mother.

"Of course you want to be with your sister, I would not begrudge you that," Georgiana said once she was again in control of her voice, though her eyes still danced merrily. "I owe you so much for what you have done for me and my brother this past week." Elizabeth denied all claims on Georgiana's gratitude, and soon afterwards Elizabeth left to speak to her aunt about her plans. It was quickly settled that Elizabeth would leave the next morning, as Mr. Gardiner did not anticipate needing the use of his carriage over the next few days, and bearing letters from the Gardiners to their various Bennet relations. Georgiana even managed to conquer her remaining shyness enough to ask to correspond with Elizabeth, a request that was greeted with enthusiasm. In very little time every thing was settled, the few belonging she had brought with her were packed away, and she could meditate contentedly on the fortunate ending of a very trying week.

* * *

Darcy, for his part, had slept through most of the day, his morning conversation with Georgiana being during his lengthiest period of wakefulness. Mr. Jones had thought this reaction probable, so it was not taken as a bad sign. He did his best to conceal the intermittent bouts of debilitating dizziness he suffered, grateful at least during those moments that he was already lying down, but Colonel Fitzwilliam was too observant to be fooled, and teased out of Darcy the information that such events had been a frequent occurrence since the previous evening. The single best indicator of his recovery was that each time he awoke he was hungry. Mrs. Gardiner gave orders to her staff that whatever he wished should be accommodated, and applied to Georgiana as to what his favorites were so that they might be on hand.

The most important consequence of his somnolence, however, was that he was unaware of Elizabeth's departure until after she had already left the following morning. During the few waking moments that he had to himself, Darcy's thoughts were full of Elizabeth. Colonel Fitzwilliam had told him of Elizabeth's collapse the night before, and just thinking on it caused him enough agitation to bring on a fit of dizziness. She had seen him completely lose his temper with his relations. After trying so hard to mend his behavior, to see to her reproofs and to behave 'in a more gentleman-like manner,' she had seen him at his least gentlemanly. How would a woman who bore such obvious love for her family – in spite of all their flaws – ever be able to esteem a man who abused his relations in such a way? That is, if she would even be comfortable in his presence after such an outburst. Bingley had often said that his temper was a fearsome thing to behold, even if you did know it was not directed at you. His only recourse was to seek to mend the damage as quickly as possible, and he resolved to find some way to speak with her soon.

When he awoke to late-morning light and the bustle of the street below him, he resolved to put his hastily-formed plan into action, only to be greeted with the report of Elizabeth's removal to Longbourn. He had been sitting up when Georgiana delivered the news, and the distress it engendered set his head reeling again so that he fell back to the pillows quite alarming Georgiana with his sudden pallor.

Keeping his eyes shut tightly against the spinning world, he managed to assure his sister that he was well, only a bit dizzy and suggested that perhaps some coffee would help set him to rights. She left to find a servant to pass the request on, and Darcy rolled onto his side, turning his face from the door and all but burying his head under the blankets as a few stray tears fell onto the pillows. _I have ruined every last hope. She has fled my presence, and I do not think I could bear to see the disapproval in her eyes again, not after Hunsford_.

* * *

**AN: OK, more of Darcy and Elizabeth, as requested, just not together yet. I think I breached propriety enough letting her hang out in his bedchamber while unconscious, I can't bring myself to let her back in now. So, back to Hertfordshire we go...will Darcy give up? Will he throw his physician out of the house and risk riding to Longbourn while too dizzy to even sit up in bed? Even worse, will Wickham still be there when Lizzy arrives? [cue suspenseful music] Don't be too mad at me for the teasing, because I don't know what's coming next either...**

******Thanks for all the reviews. I love getting those emails. All comments, criticism and suggestions welcome.**


	13. We Meet Again

While contemplating the happiness of her sister Jane and avoiding confronting her budding feelings for Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth completely neglected other avenues of thought, and so it was only when she was passing through Meryton that she remembered Mr. Wickham. The carriage had just passed the spot on the road where they had been introduced – prompting musings on what would have been different if on that day she had not already been prejudiced against Mr. Darcy – when she recollected that Mr. and Mrs. Wickham had been visiting Longbourn. Desperately, she counted the days of her visit in London three times before she allowed herself to admit that she had not mistaken the day and that she would have to face the Wickhams.

As can easily be imagined, the last mile of her journey was passed in extreme agitation, equaled only by the feelings she had experienced when first learning of Lydia's elopement. She did not know how she was to face Mr. Wickham with any kind of equanimity, and as she wiped away her tears of vexation she realized she would have to explain her distress to her family if she was unable to compose herself before her arrival. Hastily she finished drying her tears and took several deep calming breaths, resolving on pleading fatigue from the journey and retiring to her room directly.

When Mr. Wickham was absent from the family party assembled to greet her, she was nearly sick with relief, a feeling which increased when Jane and Mr. Bingley came from around the side of the house to join the others. Even so, she was hardly able to greet her family properly. Upon beholding Elizabeth, Jane immediately caught her eye with a look that bespoke concern for her sister and a demand for an explanation. Mrs. Bennet was less subtle and immediately remarked upon her pallor. "Lizzy, have you caught whatever ailed your Uncle's acquaintance? Oh, you look very ill indeed, you should never have gone. You were never very handsome, it is true, but at least you had your strength and health to recommend you. Go inside at once and rest, you must recover your looks if you are not to end an old maid. What am I to do, we will soon have more invalids in the house than not, I am sure."

Mr. Bingley, who knew much of what Elizabeth had endured during her trip and who wanted to avoid actual mention of Mr. Wickham for as long as possible, came forward at that moment and tactfully ended Mrs. Bennet's monologue by renewing his acquaintance with his future sister with a warm and unaffected greeting. Elizabeth answered him with equal delight and sincerity and then turned and embraced Jane affectionately before entering the house.

As Elizabeth moved towards the stairs in order to change out of her traveling clothes and refresh herself, she caught her father's worried gaze directed at her. Realizing that Jane was not the only one to recognize her discomposure, she gave him a small smile and shook her head slightly – they would talk later in private, but he needn't worry unduly for her.

* * *

As much as Jane wanted to spend her time with her fiancé, she needed to speak with her sister. "Charles," she unconsciously smiled at being able to address him so, "Elizabeth needs me, I must go to her. Will you excuse me? I know we had planned on taking a turn in the gardens but I must not neglect Lizzy, she must have had a trying week."

"More so than you know, my dear," Bingley shook his head sadly. "Can you spare me a minute before you go to her, I think there is something you ought to know first."

This odd statement piqued her curiosity, and she noticed that he looked more grave than she had ever seen him before, further disposing her to hear what he had to say. Casting an anxious glance in the direction of her sister's room, she turned away and led him back outside to a stone bench nearby the house. "Do you remember that I mentioned being brought back to Hertfordshire because of some trouble Mr. Wickham had caused Mr. Darcy?" Jane nodded mutely. "Well, in truth," he swallowed, "Mr. Wickham…that is…er…" Closing his eyes and praying for strength, he went on in a rush before he could hesitate again, "Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham have a bit of a history together, and it was Darcy who discovered Mr. Wickham and your sister in London."

He stopped there to gauge how Jane was taking this information. For a moment her face was a mask of complete surprise, but it quickly returned to it's normal serene visage. "You do not seem as shocked by this as I would have thought."

Jane colored a bit as she looked away from Bingley, trying to determine how much she could reveal without betraying her sister's or Mr. Darcy's confidences. She answered truthfully, but vaguely, "I have known of Mr. Wickham's dealings with Mr. Darcy for some time." Bingley was astonished, but correctly interpreted her reluctance to speak and the bright flush of her cheeks as evidence that she knew the entire story, including the attempted seduction of Miss Darcy, a conclusion that was supported by her saying, "I am not surprised that Mr. Darcy would take such an action after learning of my family's troubles; I always thought him a man of honor."

"Jane, my love, I know your kind heart, and I am sorry that what I have to say will give you more pain, but Mr. Wickham's knavery is greater than even Mr. Darcy had supposed, and your sister knows the whole of it. I think that you should be acquainted with what she has just endured in London so that you do not unintentionally cause her more pain." Here he reached out and took her hands, seeking to give some comfort as he continued.

"How do you know what happened to Lizzy in London?"

Bingley pressed Jane's hands reassuringly. "I have had the tale from Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy's cousin. I am unsure as to the particulars of the last few days, as our correspondence has been brief since I arrived in Hertfordshire, but allow me to tell you what I do know," and Bingley proceeded to relate the events of the last week to Jane. By the end Jane was pale and trembling and he did the only thing he could think to do: he took her in his arms, held her tightly against himself and uttered soothing noises.

Without warning, Jane suddenly thrust herself away from him. Thinking that he did not approve of the liberties he had taken with her, he began to stutter an apology. "No. No, Charles, it is not that," she said distractedly. "It is just that I realized I am sitting here indulging my own emotions when Elizabeth must be suffering much worse and with no one to confide in! Oh, who could have known that Mr. Wickham could be as bad as this? And to have to face Mr. Darcy again after so vehemently refusing his proposal and accusing him of ruining Mr. Wickham! Poor Elizabeth, it is too much to bear alone."

With that Jane ran off leaving behind her a very bewildered Bingley sitting as though frozen to the bench, trying to make sense of what he had just heard, one phrase presenting itself for examination over and over again. _Refusing his proposal? No, he could not have, could he?_

* * *

Jane rapped twice on the door to the room she shared with Elizabeth before entering. Lizzy was curled up in the window seat gazing distractedly out at the gardens as though the autumn flowers held some mighty secret.

"Lizzy?" Jane prompted softly, seating herself gingerly next to her sister. "Lizzy, Charles just told me everything, I am so sorry."

At this Elizabeth burst into tears and threw herself into her sister's waiting embrace. "How am I to face him, Jane?" she sobbed. "He nearly killed Mr. Darcy, and Georgiana was sick with worry over her brother it nearly broke my heart. How can I look him in the eye and be civil?"

Jane, who always thought the best of everybody, was now finding it difficult to think any good of her new brother. "I don't know, Lizzy, but you will not have to face him for at least a few days, as he is currently abed." With a trace of vindictive satisfaction that shocked Elizabeth into silence she added, "While fighting with Charles, Mr. Wickham was knocked so hard on the head that he has been unable to stir from his bed these last four days."

"Mr. Bingley…" Elizabeth's voice trailed off, as she found the likelihood of Mr. Bingley's being involved in violence difficult to even think of, and she could not frame the words properly.

"Since I know some of what happened in London, perhaps you would like to know what you have missed while at my aunt and uncle's?" Elizabeth was unable to do more than nod, and continued to stare in mute wonderment at her sister as the history of Mr. Bingley's return to Netherfield Park was related in all its astounding details, including the startling revelation that Mr. Wickham thought he had been entirely successful in killing Darcy.

Both sisters felt better for knowing more of the events that the other had endured, but Jane would have given much to know what had passed between Elizabeth and the Darcys. Despite finding herself finally capable of thinking ill of somebody – if anybody deserved the distinction of being the first person Jane believed to be less than good and agreeable it was George Wickham – she was not so lost to herself that she would seek to force a confidence from her obviously reluctant sister, and so contented herself with the knowledge that Lizzy would confide in her when she was ready.

After a quiet quarter of an hour together, each engrossed in her own private thoughts, Elizabeth broke the silence. "Jane, what am I to do? What would I do if I found myself alone with him? And I don't doubt that I shall have to endure Lydia crowing over her wonderful husband and Mama's bragging to the entire neighborhood about her daughter's catch. I so wanted to come back and share in the happiness of your engagement, but – forgive me for saying so Jane – but now I wish myself back in London."

"You do not need forgiveness for that thought, Lizzy. In truth I cannot think less of any body for desiring to be far from such a man as Mr. Wickham. As for encountering him, once he leaves his rooms, I promise that I shall not leave your side until he is gone, and neither shall Charles when he is here; you will not face him alone." Elizabeth embraced her sister gratefully at these words. When they broke apart, Jane asked meekly, "Do you think Father should know?"

Elizabeth's surprise was evident, "Is he still ignorant, even after such a fight as you described between Mr. Wickham and your Mr. Bingley? Did he not demand an accounting for such actions?"

"I think," Jane said slowly, reasoning it out as she spoke, "I think Charles told Father enough to justify his actions, but did not mention the particulars. Perhaps he did not feel at liberty to divulge everything. Father does not even know that it was Miss Darcy that my aunt asked you to come and attend."

Elizabeth did not have time to organize her thoughts on the matter, when their conversation was interrupted by Hill coming to summon them both to dinner at Mrs. Bennet's insistence. Taking a deep, calming breath, and exchanging a knowing look with Jane, Elizabeth prepared to face her family.

The remainder of the day was every bit as harrowing as Elizabeth had anticipated. At dinner, aside from a comment from Mr. Bennet at how happy he was to see Elizabeth back, there was absolutely no sensible discourse. Mrs. Bennet talked incessantly of wedding plans and the satisfaction of having two daughters well married. Lydia was as boisterous as ever, proclaiming energetically to anyone who would listen – usually Kitty or Mrs. Bennet – how tired she was from caring for her poor sick husband, and how her sisters could not possibly comprehend the life of a married woman.

Observing this spectacle, Elizabeth no longer wondered why Mr. Bingley had not stayed for the meal. When they next had the opportunity to speak privately, Jane confided that Lydia had taken a profound dislike to Mr. Bingley after witnessing the fight. Her snide comments were uncomfortable for everybody; even Mrs. Bennet did not know how to reconcile her pride in Mrs. Wickham with her deference for Mr. Bingley, and as a result often voiced even sillier comments than usual. The sadness in Jane's eyes as she spoke added fuel to Elizabeth's disapproval of her younger sister.

The Meryton apothecary came by in the late afternoon, and Elizabeth contrived to meet him only as he was taking his leave, and managed to feign concern for her brother-in-law as she asked for news. She did not hold out hope that the Wickhams would be able to leave the next day, as had been the original plan, but she prayed that their departure would be soon. It was not to be, however, as she was quickly informed that due to the blow to his head, Wickham would be unable to travel for some time without risking further injury. "But," the apothecary added kindly, mistaking Elizabeth's displeasure for genuine worry over the patient, "he is healing quickly, as strong young men often do. I wager that he'll be joining the family soon, within the next day or so."

The apothecary left, and Elizabeth walked to the little copse to sit alone and think with some privacy. Dread, as strong as she had ever felt while despairing of Mr. Darcy's life, settled into the pit of her stomach. It seemed as if there was a weight on her chest, making breathing difficult. _Calm yourself, you cannot be in company if you keep acting so foolish. Mr. Wickham believes himself the victor and certainly has no reason to act out again. Even if he did, he cannot act while in company, and he is too weak to do any real damage._

These thoughts did little to ease her mind, and when she returned to the house, she looked so ill that without prompting Mrs. Bennet sent her to her room to rest, promising to send up a tray. "Jane is determined to have you as her bridesmaid, though I cannot pretend to know why she would not prefer Kitty, so you must take care of your looks, for it will not do to have you looking pale and sickly on such a day."

Elizabeth was so glad for the respite, that she did not take notice of her mother's disparaging remarks.

Strong emotions are to blame for much loss of sleep, but eventually the body becomes physically drained by such internal pressures. Though Elizabeth thought her fear of Wickham would result in another sleepless night – after all, he was just down the hall from her room – exhaustion took over, and she was asleep before her supper arrived.

The following two days were no better for Elizabeth with the exception that she was able to spend some time in the company of Jane and Mr. Bingley. It was impossible to be in their presence without being affected by their happiness and love, and those moments raised Elizabeth's spirits considerably. Still the dread of meeting again with Mr. Wickham never truly dissipated. Mr. Bennet tried several times to find out what was troubling his favorite daughter, but she steadfastly refused to admit that anything was wrong beyond a lack of sleep. Knowing Elizabeth's stubborn nature, he refrained from teasing her, and after she rebuffed his third inquiry he resolved to be satisfied with letting her know that he would not force her to speak on the matter, but if she wanted to tell him the truth, she was welcome in his library at any time.

After supper the evening of the second day after Elizabeth's return, Lydia announced happily that Mr. Wickham would be joining the family for tea the following afternoon. This was accompanied by a dark glare in the direction of Mr. Bingley, but the man in question did not notice, as he was busily engaged with Jane trying to divert Elizabeth. Jane was about to invite Mr. Bingley, but before she could speak her youngest sister could suggest that it be _family_ only (her anger at Mr. Bingley for causing her 'dear Wickham' harm was such that she refused to admit Mr. Bingley as family until after the wedding) so to not tax her husbands strength too dearly. Bingley took this with his usual grace, completely ignoring the slight, and accepted Jane's invitation to tea the next day. His visit ended shortly after this exchange, as he had some estate business required his attention.

* * *

Though the previous days had wreaked havoc on Elizabeth's nerves, it was nothing to what she experienced waiting for Mr. Wickham's appearance the afternoon following Lydia's announcement. Her appetite had not been good since her return from London, but was now nonexistent. She forced herself to eat a piece of toast for breakfast more because she knew she should be hungry than for any other reason, but by teatime, even the thought of something as innocuous as a piece of toast was enough to start her stomach churning.

Finally, Wickham made his way downstairs, and Mrs. Bennet insisted that the entire family be present for this long-anticipated (and long-dreaded) event. Elizabeth spoke as little as civility allowed, chose a seat as far from Mr. Wickham as she could, and attended her embroidery with a single-mindedness that it did not often command.

It soon became clear that he remembered nothing of his fight with Bingley, for which Elizabeth and Jane were both grateful. He did, however, remember that Elizabeth had been summoned to the Gardiner's to help care for an ill acquaintance of theirs. Thinking that he could at least find some pleasant conversation with Elizabeth, Wickham began to ask Elizabeth about her trip. "How was your journey?"

"Pleasant."

"Did you leave your Aunt and Uncle well?"

"Yes, quite well."

"I hope the patient was not seriously ill."

"A full recovery is expected."

"I suppose it was some business partner or other of Mr. Gardiner?"

"Yes, they have done some business together recently."

Mr. Bennet caught the panicked glance Elizabeth shot to Jane at the start of this exchange, as well as Elizabeth's short answers. Had it been any other member of his family showing such discomfort at a simple conversation he might have let it play out or even encouraged the interaction, but his Lizzy was not often discomfited for no reason, and he decided to intervene, but before he could, Jane deftly directed the conversation to herself and a different topic. Lizzy still seemed uncomfortable, but Mr. Bennet judged there was no need to cause a scene just yet.

Mrs. Bennet gave her least favorite daughter a disapproving look for her terseness, but soon put it out of her mind as she settled down to bask in the presence of her pleasant, good-mannered son-in-law.

Elizabeth listened to Jane with half an ear, as she tried to school her trembling hands to their task. She had already pricked her finger with her embroidery needle once, and now had somehow gotten so distracted that a large knot had formed in her thread, defying all her attempts to untangle it. A laugh threatened to escape her lips at the thought that at least now she had something that could explain her frustration to the rest of the room, but she bit the inside of her cheek, and kept her face trained on her work.

Fortunately, Mr. Wickham tired quickly, and retired for a rest before he had the change to speak with Elizabeth again. As soon as was polite after his departure, Elizabeth abandoned her embroidery, still horribly tangled, and made her escape out of doors, not returning until it was nearly dark.

Mr. Wickham took his evening meal with the rest of the family also, but was seated between Mrs. Bennet and Kitty, and across from his wife, nearly as far from Elizabeth he could be, so she was spared the necessity of speaking with him, though she nearly ground her teeth in anger at his easy manner. She made it through the rest of the evening thanks to Jane's support, and gentle manipulation of the conversation, but it was with profound relief that she watched Mr. Wickham retire to his room for the night.

* * *

The following afternoon found Elizabeth pacing the gardens with Jane, anxiously awaiting Mr. Bingley's arrival. She refused to go back into the house until he came. A small corner of her heart whispered that she would much rather be waiting for Mr. Darcy, but she squashed that part ruthlessly – now was not the time for fruitless wishes. If Mr. Darcy did not regret the schism with his family when he was completely healthy again – she refused to think 'if' – let him seek her out; until then she would not think on the matter.

To the credit of his punctuality as a sportsman, Mr. Bingley was in very good time, his carriage pulling up to the house at the appointed hour. Both Jane and Elizabeth moved eagerly to greet its occupant. What they had not expected was that there would be more than one: Colonel Fitzwilliam followed his friend out of the carriage smiling jovially.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam!" cried Elizabeth with more feeling than politeness, but quickly recollected herself and dropped a curtsy, "It is a pleasure to see you again, sir. When did you arrive in Hertfordshire?"

"Only a few hours ago, Miss Elizabeth," he bowed, "I had to come to see how Bingley here was getting along. His letters are full of his engagement and I felt I would not get a word on any other topic until I came to speak with him myself."

"I can well imagine. I have heard the most awful things said about Mr. Bingley's writing, and I find that I am impressed that you comprehended enough to know he was engaged," Elizabeth laughed, smiling at Mr. Bingley to show no offense was meant, and immediately introduced Jane.

"I understand now," he said gallantly bowing to Jane, "who could think on mundane matters of business when blessed with such felicity." The couple in question blushed furiously at Elizabeth and the colonel's laughter.

Though putting on a good face, Colonel Fitzwilliam was actually rather alarmed at Elizabeth's appearance. Her laughter had a tenseness to it, and her entire manner spoke of a deep disquiet. This was not the carefree, witty woman he had watched his cousin fall in love with, and he tensed his jaw adding this to Wickham's long list of misdeeds. Neither Elizabeth nor Jane noticed when Colonel Fitzwilliam shot Bingley a glance, or Bingley's subdued nod in answer. Forcing himself to relax his bearing, he offered Elizabeth his arm as Bingley suggested they go in.

"I did not expect you to leave London any time soon, Colonel," Elizabeth spoke quietly.

He gave her a serious look that she could not quite interpret, but answered with a light tone, "Well, Georgiana has told me that I have been quite underfoot the last few days, and suggested I go off and bother somebody else."

"Then you have chosen very poorly, I think, Colonel, for it is nearly impossible to be a bother to Mr. Bingley."

"Nonetheless, I think I shall try," he said with a wicked grin, causing Elizabeth to laugh once again, though still not with the easiness that he remembered from their time at Rosings.

It was true that Georgiana had scolded him for hovering at Darcy's bedside and exhausting the patience of both his cousins with his constant worrying for their health, but he had come because Bingley had summoned him with an express letter the night detailing Wickham's recovery and Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth's discomfort with his presence. He understood that Mr. Bennet could not throw the man out of his house when injured so severely, but he could not understand how he could allow such a scoundrel to be in company with his daughters.

Elizabeth noticed the tension creeping into his arm, but he merely shook his head at her questioning glance and mumbled something about a stray thought. A moment later they were following Jane and Bingley into the drawing room, where the entire family except for the Wickhams was already assembled.

Bingley introduced his friend, and apologized for not sending word ahead, but Mrs. Bennet denied any such necessity. "Any friend of yours is always welcome here, I am sure, Mr. Bingley," she said, already thinking of the possibility of Kitty or Elizabeth becoming Mrs. Fitzwilliam. She tried to catch Elizabeth's attention in hopes of conveying some subtle instructions, but Colonel Fitzwilliam had already seated himself near Elizabeth, Jane and Bingley and the four were deeply engrossed in conversation.

Despite their animated conversation, nobody could fail to notice the moment that the Wickhams entered the room, because the instant she passed through the door Lydia began demanding compliments on her husband's recovery from Mr. Bingely, and Mrs. Bennet began supplying them for him with equal energy.

Nearly a full minute passed before Wickham noticed Colonel Fitzwilliam's presence, and since the colonel had purposefully seated himself facing away from the door, Wickham did not recognize him at first.

Mrs. Bennet noticed her son-in-law's gaze resting on the back of the colonel's head, and took the introductions upon herself. "We are graced with another guest today, Mr. Wickham, a good friend of Mr. Bingley's." Realizing that he was about to be introduced, Colonel Fitzwilliam stood and turned slowly. The look on his face might have been mistaken by some as a polite smile and vague interest in the man before him, but those people would never be called astute observers of human kind. Elizabeth, Bingley, and, of course, Wickham all recognized the look for what it was: a challenge. It said quite clearly 'I am watching you closely, and if you put just one toe out of line, no if you even _think_ of putting a toe out of line, I will crush you like the spineless insect that you are.' All this was lost on Mrs. Bennet, who blithely continued her introduction, "Mr. Wickham, may I have the pleasure of introducing Colonel Fitzwilliam."

The colonel flashed a malevolent smile, before bowing. "George, it has been a long time, has it not. Why, I think the last time we saw each other was last summer after you had returned from Ramsgate. I see your leg has healed. And I heard from Darcy that you were to be married. It is a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Wickham."

Lydia fairly bristled at the colonel's informal address of her husband, as though he were a mere servant, and not a Lieutenant, but the colone's speech had given Wickham enough time to find his voice, if not to return the color to his cheeks, "Yes, yes I think you are correct, Colonel. It has been a long time," _not nearly long enough, "_and the leg has healed completely," _though I shall have to remember to thank you properly one day for inflicting it in the first place,_ "I thank you for asking. What brings you to Hertfordshire?" _And don't think I don't know you had something to do with helping Darcy saddle me to this vapid, penniless excuse for a wife_.

Mrs. Bennet who bubbled happily, "Oh, you are already acquainted then gentlemen? Excellent," and then turned to Lydia to tell her in no uncertain terms that she should strive to impress the colonel, as he might be of assistance to her husband in his career.

Free from the scrutiny of Mrs. Bennet, Fitzwilliam replied to Wickham's earlier question. "Bingley here invited me. I have had a rough time recently in town, and he thought I could use the diversion."

A brief flash of satisfaction crossed Wickham's face, as he took this for confirmation of Mr. Darcy's death. Colonel Fitzwilliam managed to conceal his contempt as he cataloged Wickham's reaction. It seemed that Bingley was right in his estimation of the situation. Wickham thought he had succeeded, and was all the more dangerous because of it.

"Well, I hope you enjoy your sojourn to the country. Hertfordshire has many beauties worth admiring." Wickham did not even try to stop his eyes from wandering to Miss Elizabeth as he said this, and he found her flush at his attention quite exciting.

Fitzwilliam took a step towards Wickham, blocking Elizabeth from his view, and pitched his voice low, "Next time I will not settle for first blood, George." When returned to his seat next to Miss Elizabeth, her wide eyes told him that she had heard his menacing comment, but he did not detect fear or disapproval in her countenance, only surprise.

"The leg?" she whispered, "After Ramsgate?"

He nodded, smiled, and then turned his attention to the conversation between Jane and Bingley.

Elizabeth was more silent than usual that day, but she had to admit to herself that Colonel Fitzwilliam's presence had done much to relieve the knot of anxiety that had taken up residence in her gut. She would never again be easy in Wickham's presence, but at least with the colonel by her side – and for the entire time he was at Longbourn, he had not left her alone for more than a minute – she could feel a modicum of safety.

The gentlemen could not stay indefinitely, and Elizabeth and Jane saw them out to their carriage. Colonel Fitzwilliam made use of the distraction of the couple saying their tender goodbyes and pulled a letter out of his pocket. "From Georgiana," he said, as he saw Elizabeth's hesitation.

She took the letter happily, and said in a teasing voice, "You should be careful, Colonel, another day like today and my mother may start planning our wedding. It might already be too late."

His smile was only somewhat forced as he said "I would not wish that fate on you, Miss Elizabeth, but neither would I have wished for you to have lived through the things you have experienced in the last week, only to be forced into constant company with the man who caused them." His smile had completely vanished by the time he had finished speaking. "I wish that there was a way to hold him accountable for his actions, without bringing shame to your entire family, Miss Bennet."

"What cannot be changed must be endured, Colonel."

"I shall have to remember that, though I think in this case my cousin would not agree with you on this point. He would seek instead to change the unchangeable rather than watch you endure it." Before Elizabeth could process what had just been said, he took his leave. "Good night, Miss Elizabeth. Good night, Miss Bennet."

The sisters watched the carriage until it disappeared around a turn in the lane, and only then did they return to the drawing room, and much less pleasant company than had been present moments before.

**AN: continued thanks to all my readers and reviewers. we're going to leave Darcy to himself for a bit as he heals, but there's plenty of drama to be had in Hertfordshire. if my updates get a bit more sporadic, i apologize, but real life (read: exams and deadlines) is going to get pretty hectic soon.**


	14. Don't Panic!

Jane gave Elizabeth's arm a squeeze as they entered the drawing room, and Elizabeth responded with a grateful glance, but without the presence of Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam Elizabeth felt adrift and vulnerable. Indeed, she was so ill at ease that she had to give up her embroidery because she could not steady her hands. Hoping to avoid conversation, she moved to a small table in the corner of the room and pulled out her letter from Georgiana.

This action did not go unnoticed by the female occupants of the room, and Mrs. Bennet, secretly hoping that it was a love note from the Colonel, called out eagerly, "Who are you writing to, Elizabeth? I do not remember you receiving any letters since your return from London."

Elizabeth did not want to admit the identity of her correspondent, but could not justify giving a falsehood, and reluctantly informed her mother that the colonel had been kind enough to deliver a letter from Miss Darcy. This of course produced demands for further information from Mrs. Bennet, which were satisfied as briefly as possible outlining their introduction in Lambton, and then – Elizabeth felt it unnecessary to give the entire truth here – mentioning that they had met again while she was with the Gardiners, and agreed to correspond.

She had been aware of Mr. Wickham's close scrutiny as she spoke, and was not surprised when he joined in the conversation, "How did you like Miss Darcy?"

"I like her very much. She is a sweet unassuming girl." Elizabeth's voice had an undertone of displeasure which belied the pleasant appearance of the conversation.

"I have heard, indeed, that she is uncommonly improved within this year or two. When I last saw her, she was not very promising. I am very glad you liked her. I hope she will turn out well."

"I dare say she will; she has got over the most trying age." Elizabeth shut her mouth firmly then, afraid that in her anger she would be driven to say something intemperate, but her tone and the glint in her eye conveyed much to Mr. Wickham, and he smiled in satisfaction at her discomposure. Once she was sure she could control her tongue, she excused herself to read her correspondence in private.

Quickly tiring of conversation now that all the most sensible people had left, Mr. Bennet left the room not two minutes later and found Elizabeth sitting on a bench in the hallway pale and trembling.

He immediately led his daughter to his study, and sat her down near the fire anxiously asking if she was ill. It took several minutes to persuade him that she did not need the services of the apothecary, and she was only successful when she revealed that her distress was due to having to speak with Mr. Wickham.

"My child, I know it is hard to respect such a man as Mr. Wickham, but I cannot think of any reason why you should be so upset by such harmless conversation. You know I think highly of your sense, and I can only conclude that you have some reason for your distress, will you not tell me?" Seeing that her unease only increased, he handed her a small glass of brandy. "Come now, my dear, it cannot be so bad as all that."

"No," she said, taking a sip of the brandy and letting the fire in her throat burn for a moment, "it _is_ that bad. You saw the letter that my aunt and uncle sent, asking me to help care for the sister of an acquaintance of theirs as he had fallen ill?"

"Of course," he waved his hand somewhat dismissively. This was old knowledge.

"Well, I did not know until after I arrived, but the young woman was…was…Miss Darcy," she finished in a near whisper. Mr. Bennet was absolutely silent, and she took another sip her drink, finding the burn somehow comforting. When it was clear he was not going to say anything – indeed, he did not have the slightest idea what to say to this revelation – she went on, "Mr. Darcy fell ill while visiting them at Gracechurch Street. They had formed an acquaintance when we met him while touring Pemberley," she added by way of explanation, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for Mr. Darcy to visit acquaintances in that part of town.

Mr. Bennet felt that he could now say something more than just 'What?' or 'Darcy?' and cleared his throat gently. "So you just did not want to speak to Mr. Wickham of the man who harmed him? But it was Mr. Wickham who furthered the subject of Miss Darcy, you can hardly be blamed for that."

If Mr. Bennet had been confused before, the sudden flush of anger in his daughter's cheeks only compounded the sensation. "I should think," she said hotly, "that by now you would give less credence to Mr. Wickham's words, Father. Mr. Darcy has been more generous to him than he deserves, and," she clamped her lips shut; she had been about to say 'and Mr. Wickham repays Mr. Darcy by trying to kill him.' She closed her eyes tightly against the tears that threatened to begin again.

"True, I should not believe him, but then I have been given no evidence to the contrary." Mr. Bennet prompted.

Elizabeth shook her head, "It is not my affair to relate. Suffice it to say that I have now heard both sides of the issue, and I believe – no – I _know_, that the fault is entirely Mr. Wickham's."

Suddenly, Mr. Bennet remembered that Bingley had said Mr. Wickham had been causing trouble for Mr. Darcy in town, and that it had been a matter of life and death...And Mr. Darcy had been gravely ill…He sat back in his chair, and reached out with a shaking hand to procure some brandy for himself, clinking the decanter against the crystal class as he poured.

His agitation was not lost on Elizabeth, but he waved away her concern. "To have such a man as my son-in-law. To have him in my house," he mumbled indistinctly, and then another thought struck him. His eyes snapped up to his daughter's face as the glass slipped from his fingers and landed on his desk with a solid thunk, luckily only spilling a few drops before setting upright. "Mr. Darcy," he licked his lips, "is he? – That is, did Wickham manage to…?"

He could not fully frame the question, but Elizabeth understood, and assured him of Mr. Darcy's recovery thanks to Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam. "It was a close thing though, I think."

"Indeed," Mr. Bennet wiped a hand across his brow. "I understand your reluctance to speak to Mr. Wickham now. If it would not draw even more attention to our family, I would send him on to Newcastle at first light, but I fear we must endure his presence for a while longer, at least until the apothecary pronounces him fit to travel. Until that time, you have my permission to be in my library as much as you wish." For the first time in their interview, a small smile crept across his face, "Even better, I think you would make an excellent chaperone for Mr. Bingley and Jane. You are officially tasked with being in their company as much as possible, especially when they are out of doors. Mr. Bingley settled Mr. Wickham once, I have no doubt he can do it again. And if the Colonel comes to call again, I should think he might be similarly enlisted to ensure the good behavior of his friend.

"Now then, my dear, I think you have had enough excitement for this night. I will make sure you are not disturbed."

Elizabeth gratefully retired to her room completely forgetting about her letter from Georgiana.

As soon as he had his library to himself again, Mr. Bennet dispatched a note to Netherfield.

* * *

Upon returning to Netherfield, Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam had settled into a pair of very comfortable leather chairs in Netherfield's library. It may have been nothing to Pemberley, but it still boasted an impressive collection and was a comfortable place to spend an evening. Bingley settled himself to read the paper he had delivered from London every day, while the colonel stretched his legs out in front of him looking completely at ease with a copy of Shakespeare's Macbeth. Fitzwilliam had to admit to himself, as he relaxed further into his chair, that he had not given himself leave to feel this calm in some time, and it felt good. Darcy was getting better, and Georgiana improved as her brother did, and he felt sure that the public, if veiled, set-down he had given Wickham would be enough to keep him in check.

In his peaceful reverie, the colonel did not notice the servant who had come until he stood directly in front of him, holding out a silver tray bearing a single letter to Mr. Bingley. Even this might not have roused him by itself, but Bingley's sharp inhalation caught his attention. Not wishing to invade his friend's privacy he did not speak but waited until Bingley looked up, and quirked his eyebrow slightly.

Bingley responded to this tacit question with a look of mild alarm, "It is from Longbourn."

The peaceful gentleman about to relax with his favorite book was banished at once, and in his place was a decisive military man, alert and ready. "What happened? What did Wickham do?" he growled. _Blast Wickham! Does he never learn? He cannot expect to get away with anything when I am not three miles away, can he?_

Bingley quickly scanned the writing in front of him, every bit as tense as the colonel. "Well?" Fitzwilliam was growing impatient, but Bingley did not look up until he was certain he understood what he had just read. "Nothing too dire, I think, Fitzwilliam. Apparently he said enough after we left to thoroughly discompose Miss Elizabeth in such a way that none of the family understood her distress. She was obliged to confide in her father, and he writes to say that he knows what Wickham attempted to do, and wishes to talk to us as early as possible tomorrow."

"I cannot say that I blame him. I am only surprised he does not summon us tonight."

"Indeed. Were I in his place I would want to know all sooner rather than later."

"Well, I suppose that means I should retire early," said Fitzwilliam, draining his glass. "Macbeth will have to wait for another night."

* * *

In due time, the morning came, and the gentlemen of Netherfield answered Mr. Bennet's short letter with an unusually early visit. Mr. Bennet had suggested a time at which none of the women of the family would be awake, so Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam were able to enter the house unnoticed by any of the female inhabitants. They spent a moderately tense half hour exchanging information, and all three men felt they had benefited from a more thorough knowledge of what had transpired.

Mr. Bennet had finally reached the point that had bothered him through most of the night, "What I most want to know is whether or not he is a danger to…to his wife. Lydia was foolish and has always been silly, but not even she deserves…"

He was interrupted by a shout from Jane that had all three men on their feet and running for the door.

* * *

Elizabeth had spent yet another restless night, sporadically drifting asleep only to be haunted by unsettling dreams and to wake shivering in fear of she knew not what. Her only consolation was that she had managed to not disturb Jane's rest. As dawn began to caress the landscape outside her window, Elizabeth gave up all pretense, and picked up her copy of Paradise Regained in an attempt to relieve her nerves. _I think I shall never tease Mother about her 'nerves' again_, Elizabeth thought.

The book could only hold her attention for a few minutes at a time before her thoughts wandered back to the thought of Mr. Wickham. _He knows that I know something, or at least that I suspect something. And Papa was right, last night's conversation should have been a harmless one, no body else in the room would see any reason for being upset. I thought it would be bearable if I could just avoid being alone with him, but now I know better. He will probably come down to breakfast today – he did not seem so very ill last night. And I can scarcely avoid going to meals. Mama won't allow me to be absent unless I am ill. I feel as though I may be ill. The way Wickham looked at me last night, _she shuddered. _No, I cannot see him again, I will not! Oh, but I must! Is there nothing to be done about it? Why did I not just stay in London?_

Elizabeth's complete preoccupation persisted even when house began stirring. She heard heavy footsteps descending the stairs and mused absently that it was early for her father to be awake. She did not hear the door open or the gentlemen enter, but some time later she heard a giggle from down the hall followed by a masculine voice; the Wickhams were awake.

His voice pushed Elizabeth past her breaking point. The week of poor sleep, worry over the Darcys (guilt over her harsh treatment of Mr. Darcy in particular,) Mr. Wickham taunting her last night, and that look he gave her. It all came crashing down.

Elizabeth felt herself trembling. It was becoming hard to breathe. It was like a giant weight was crushing her chest. The only sound she heard now was that of her own heart beat, which was uncomfortably powerful, pounding heavily as though trying to break out of her chest. A bead of sweat stung her eye and she blinked against this latest pain, trying to rid herself of the feeling of dread that had settled over her. She knew that she was going to die. Maybe fate would be kind and this would be the end right here, but if not now, than soon. Mr. Wickham would make sure of that. Perhaps he already had, and this was what Mr. Darcy had felt before losing consciousness.

She did not even notice the when her book slipped off her lap, or Jane waking up.

* * *

Jane noticed Elizabeth's restlessness the night before, and had resolved to stay awake until Elizabeth was asleep, in case she needed to talk, but within an hour of crawling into the bed she and her sister shared, Jane had drifted off. She awoke from pleasant drams of Mr. Bingley and herself walking arm-in-arm through Netherfield Park, and sighed happily before she noticed that Elizabeth was already out of bed. As the fog of sleep cleared from her head, Jane heard muffled sobs, and then a soft thump. She looked up to see Elizabeth, still wearing only her nightgown, curled in a fetal position in her window seat, crying into her hands.

"Lizzy!" Jane scrambled out of bed and knelt at her sister's side, and put a hand on her sister's shoulder.

""Jane," Elizabeth gasped out, throwing her arms around her sister's neck.

"What is wrong? You are ill? Shall I send for the apothecary?"

Elizabeth could make no answer, and Jane gently grabbed Elizabeth's face in her hands, taking in her pallor, her perspiration, and the wild look in her eyes. Even more alarming, as she moved her hands down to Elizabeth's chin, she felt her sister's pulse. Her eyes widened in fear, "No!" she cried, "Father, Father come quickly, it's Lizzy!"

She did not take her eyes off Elizabeth as she heard a door downstairs slam open, followed by rushing footsteps, and the confused cries of her mother and at least one of her other sisters. She did not even register the fact that her father was not the only person to enter the room, though Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam remained near the door, Mr. Bingley surreptitiously pressing his arm against his aching side, and the colonel quietly closing the door to avoid any disruption from the other ladies of the house.

"Lizzy?" Mr. Bennet's voice reached both sisters, though to a different extent. Jane snapped out of her reverie, and began sobbing "No, not Lizzy. Please no." Elizabeth merely transferred her frightened gaze to her father before once again burying her face in her hands, her panic increasing with the addition of so many people in the room.

A glance from Mr. Bennet was all that Bingley needed to come forward and draw his fiancé away with a promise to send immediately for the apothecary, leaving Mr. Bennet to question his second daughter as to what was the matter.

He lay his hand on the back of her neck soothingly and begged her to tell him what was wrong. It nearly crushed him to see his strong, proud daughter reduced to this. _Dueling is illegal,_ he told himself sternly, _and the miserable excuse for a man is over 25 years your junior and quicker than you could hope to be even if you could call him out._

The only response he could get from his daughter was "I will not see him. I will not!" Finally he asked her directly if Mr. Wickham had hurt her. Elizabeth shook her head violently, but did not give any other indication of the source of her trouble: he was at a loss.

Colonel Fitzwilliam observed the scene in front of him with some trepidation. He knew Darcy was desperately in love with Miss Elizabeth, and any harm to her would make him even moodier than he had been of late. He watched as Elizabeth curled in on herself even tighter, rocking slightly in her chair, and he was put in mind of a young man who had served under him, Ensign White. White had been hardly more than a boy when he had entered the army, and it was not long before he saw his first battle. He had acquitted himself bravely, but had trouble sleeping for some weeks. One day, Fitzwilliam had come upon him in a similar state, and had taken it upon himself to care for the boy, doing his best to understand the affliction.

"Sir," the colonel pitched his voice softly, to not startle Miss Elizabeth, as he thought he was beginning to understand, "may I?" he gestured towards Elizabeth. Mr. Bennet nodded, and moved over slightly so that Fitzwilliam might have room to kneel on the floor by the window seat next to him.

Slowly and calmly Colonel Fitzwilliam began to talk to Elizabeth. He told her of his good friend in the army, and of how he had been troubled by what he saw in battle. His friend had been so upset that he had not slept much, and what sleep he had was disturbed by nightmares. One day, something small went wrong, and it all suddenly became too much to bear: he had trouble breathing, he was too dizzy to stand up, there was a numbness in his hands, and his heart raced as if he had just fought a battle, and his only thought was to run away and hide and wait for death to come.

Lizzy had stopped rocking back and forth in her chair, and was now staring at Colonel Fitzwilliam in wide-eyed surprise. _How could he know?_

"It will pass," he said, holding her gaze, "breathe deeply and slowly, and it will pass, with no harm done. And when it has passed, you must promise me to get some sleep."

His voice was so earnest that she could not disbelieve him, and she nodded. The colonel would not lie to her, and there was no other way he could have known what was wrong unless he was telling the truth..

A few minutes later the shaky sensations, the pounding heart, and the feeling of foreboding had all passed, leaving her completely spent. Colonel Fitzwilliam had told Jane and Bingley that Elizabeth would be well, and sent Jane up to comfort her sister as they waited for the apothecary. His diagnosis was no longer necessary, but a sedative to ensure Elizabeth slept was welcome, even to Elizabeth herself.

An hour after Jane's panicked shout and the house was settling down. Elizabeth was asleep with Jane at her bedside. Mrs. Bennet had been convinced to leave her daughter to sleep undisturbed, Mary had stopped complaining about the noise disturbing her reading, Kitty and Lydia had taken Mr. Wickham out into the garden for some air and some quiet for his own recovery, and Mr. Bennet, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Bingley found themselves once more in the library, this time with a glass of port that they felt was warranted despite the early hour.

They sat in silence, their minds all pursuing the same problem: how to get Wickham out of their lives for good without destroying the Bennet family.

* * *

**A/N: OK, so my descriptive skills aren't the best, I know, but in case you were wondering, Elizabeth just had a panic attack. She may be strong and independent, but she's been through a heck of a lot, so I don't think it's too badly OOC. Thoughts?  
**

**Now everybody (excepting Mrs. Bennet and the 3 silly sisters) is on the same I-really-wish-Wickham-were-gone-for-good page. I suppose I'm going to have to decide what to do with him soon. He has to pay….but how? [insert dramatic & suspenseful music here] I have a few vague ideas, but none that I'm happy with just yet.**


	15. You say goodbye and I say hello

**A/N: Sorry sorry sorry for the long delay. What can I say, it's been a bad week, and the day that I usually set aside time to convert my brainstormings into actual prose I was sick. Boo. But as a thank you to all my wonderful (and PATIENT) readers and reviewers, we get to see Darcy again in this chapter.  
**

Elizabeth's mysterious and sudden illness was somewhat confusing to the local apothecary, for he had hitherto believed that the eldest two Miss Bennets were too sensible to suffer hysterical fits like their mother. If Miss Elizabeth _was_ taken ill with the hysterics, at least she was much quieter about it than Mrs. Bennet, and perfectly willing to take the sedative he prepared for her. In his experience it was as unusual for a sensible woman to suddenly have a nervous fit for no reason as it was for a hysterical woman to be so tractable. No, he decided, it would be better to err on the side of caution here, so he promised to send a sleeping draught for her to take each night until he returned, and left strict instructions that Miss Elizabeth was to remain abed, or at the very least in her own room, and should not be excited in any way until he came back to check on her progress.

Elizabeth was already asleep under the influence of the sedative when these orders had been left, but when she woke late that afternoon she surprised Jane by not protesting in the least. True, Elizabeth hated being confined to bed, but she realized immediately that it was the perfect excuse for her to not have to see Mr. Wickham for several days. Even the thought of seeing Mr. Wickham caused her chest to tighten, and she closed her eyes focusing on breathing deeply as Colonel Fitzwilliam had instructed her before the apothecary arrived. Once again, it seemed to help, and she managed to recover herself before Jane became worried. Clearly the benefits of remaining upstairs for a few days far outweighed any displeasure associated with being confined to bed.

The next three days passed slowly for Elizabeth, but thankfully did not see a return of the overwhelming panic that had engulfed her, or the equally frightening physical symptoms. Part of this was due to her remembering Georgiana's letter. The girl was overjoyed at her brother's recovery, and it showed in her writing to the point of being infectious. She related the antics of the Gardiner children with great spirit, clearly enjoying what, to her, was the novelty of being around young children. Mr. Darcy was recovering well enough that they were planning to remove to their own townhouse soon, and Elizabeth chuckled as Georgiana's sentiments wavered between a desire to be home and regret at leaving such a lively, loving household behind.

The other reason she was able to successfully avoid a relapse was that Mr. Wickham too was recovering quickly. After tending to Elizabeth, the apothecary had examined Mr. Wickham, and pronounced him fit enough to travel. Wickham took one glance at the faces of Mr. Bennet, Mr. Bingley, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, and in a slightly shaky voice announced his plan to leave the following morning to join his regiment.

"Excellent timing, George, I must say. I do hope you will allow me to accompany you. I was going to leave myself the day after next, as I have some business to attend with General ------, but it will be much better to have such great company for the journey."

Another survey of the expressions on the men before him was all it took for Wickham to realize that there was no way he could possibly refuse. And so it was settled.

Even though she had made no objections to her treatment, Elizabeth still found herself quite bored. Jane had offered to sit with her, but Elizabeth would not here of her sister neglecting her fiancé in such a way, and often sent her out to walk with Mr. Bingley. She had several books at her fingertips, but none could interest her for long. All in all, she was grateful when, two days after Colonel Fitzwilliam and the Wickhams left, the apothecary pronounced her to be well enough to leave her rooms, though he admonished her to be careful in her exertions for a few days at least.

Things at Longbourn were much subdued when Elizabeth rejoined her family. Jane and Mr. Bingley were lively enough, but relieved of the need to shield Elizabeth from Mr. Wickham, they tended to prefer each other's company over every one else, and Elizabeth did not begrudge their quiet moments together after what they had both sacrificed for her. Both Mrs. Bennet and Kitty were mourning the loss of Lydia's company, and were quieter than usual (though nothing could completely silence Mrs. Bennet on the topic of her regret that Mr. Wickham's regiment was stationed so far away.) The only topic that was likely to bring Mrs. Bennet out of her sulks was that of Jane and Bingley's wedding, and the couple in question was too busy enjoying the current peaceful atmosphere to start any conversation on that topic. Mr. Bennet, for his part, was of a more serious turn than normal. His brother-in-law had borne the burden of bribing one of the most worthless young men in Britain to marry Lydia, and now the man turned out to be not only an unconscionable rake and a gambler, but completely lacking in morals of any kind. If he had been twenty years younger he might have called the cad out. As it was he could only hope that Mr. Wickham's regiment would be sent to the peninsula and that he might do the whole world some good by dying for the crown. He bit back a sardonic chuckle as he thought that dying in battle could end up being Mr. Wickham's greatest achievement in life, and the only good thing the man had ever done for a human being other than himself.

* * *

Georgiana stalked through the house in a credible imitation of her brother when he was in a foul mood, though she was unaware of the resemblance. Darcy had not been in his room when she had gone to speak with him, and he was supposed to be resting. Worse still, his valet did not know where he was, which meant that he was currently unattended. Georgiana's frown deepened at the thought. Upon return to their home, Georgiana had harbored hopes that the peace and comfort of the familiar surroundings would have eased her brother's depression – he had reverted to the sour and moody temper that had so worried her after his return from Kent – and hastened his recovery.

Until two days ago.

While at the Gardiner's home, and spending most of his time in bed, Darcy had been able to conceal the worst of his weakness, but the day after he had returned to his own home it had all come to light. He had gone into the library in search of specific text, deeming the simple task to be not worth bothering anybody else over – he was not a complete invalid after all – and finally located the volume on a shelf just out of his reach. It was probably not the effort in itself, the fits of dizziness came upon him without any pattern that he could discern, but after positioning the library's ladder he was completely overwhelmed. Georgiana had entered the library in search of him only to find her beloved brother on his knees at the foot of the ladder with his forehead pressed against the cool floor. The only blessing in the situation was that he had not managed to set foot on the ladder, though that had obviously been his intention.

Georgiana's distress at his near accident rendered Darcy incapable of refusing her request that he be attended at all times. His household had taken up the task with enthusiasm, so glad were they to have their master back they were willing to risk his ire for the sake of his health. It had taken a mere twenty-four hours for the lack of solitude to drive the intensely private man nearly to distraction prompting his escape from his room.

Now it would be unfair to imply that Georgiana did not fully understand her brother's penchant for privacy. After all, she too tended towards a more introverted nature than was strictly fashionable (a greater failing in a woman than in a man in the eyes of society), but when he awoke she had felt that God had granted them both a reprieve, and she would not see him squander such grace merely for a few minutes alone. If he would not take care of himself, Georgiana was determined to see to it that he was taken care of.

Making a concerted effort to keep her determination, Georgiana entered Darcy's private study finding him seated behind his desk attending to the small mountain of correspondence that had built up over the course of his 'illness.' _At least he has the sense to not lock the door_, Georgiana thought, before saying with all the force she could muster, "Fitzwilliam George Andrew Darcy."

Darcy bolted from his chair upon hearing his name called out in such a tone, only to drop heavily back into it as his vision grayed with the sudden movement. He had long since ceased feeling pained when he looked at his sister and saw her resemblance to their mother, but he had never before taken full note of how much his sister _sounded_ like their mother. Not since Lady Anne's passing had he heard his full name spoken with such tender disapproval. Aunt Catherine and Lord ---- had often criticized his actions, but Georgiana's tone, hauntingly similar to his mother's, had an affectionate undertone that made the censure harder to bear than any amount of anger could on its own.

It was difficult for Georgiana not to run to his side when she saw Darcy's face turn ashen, but he had brought it on himself by sneaking away from those dedicated to his care, and she resolved to continue as she had begun. Gripping her skirts tightly as if the fabric could lend her strength, she began her scolding, "What exactly do you think you are doing leaving your rooms with no word to any one? Are you attempting to drive Parker and Mrs. Franklin to distraction just disappearing in such a manner?" She paused but Darcy did not seem inclined, or able, to answer – not surprising given his continued pallor and the fact that he had yet to reopen his eyes. Refusing to allow herself to pity him she demanded, "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Darcy shook his head slowly and whispered "You grow more like Mother every day."

It was Georgiana's turn to be shocked into silence. When she was younger she had often begged her brother for stories of their mother, but as she grew older she realized that the memories still pained him and had stopped asking. This was the first time in her memory that he had ever volunteered any information about their mother without prompting, and certainly the only time he had ever commented on the likeness she knew existed between herself and her late mother. As she pondered his words, she could no more stop the tears that sprang to her eyes than she could maintain her indignation in the face of such emotion. "Fitzwilliam?" She laid her hand on his shoulder both seeking and giving comfort through the touch.

Still without opening his eyes, he laid his hand on top of hers and gave a small squeeze. "Forgive me, dearest," his voice was hoarse with emotion, "it was…was like…you have always looked like her, but your voice just now…" He took a shuddering breath and sought to make sense of his disordered thoughts. "The last time I was addressed in such a way was when I was eleven and had smuggled a toad into the water jug in the schoolroom. It frightened my history master nearly to tears when it leapt into his glass, and he nearly quit because of the incident." The recollection of the incident broke some of the tension, and the siblings chuckled for a moment, before Darcy began in a serious tone, "Somehow, I think you came to scold me for a more serious offense."

"Yes, I did brother." Georgiana tried to recover her serious demeanor and was almost entirely successful. "Parker was very worried when he discovered you were missing, and he immediately told Mrs. Franklin. She is quite upset with you. If you do not behave better it will not be _me_ who locks you in your rooms until you are recovered.

Darcy looked somewhat chagrined at the mention of Mrs. Franklin. She was a loyal housekeeper, and ran the townhouse with amazing efficiency, but would not brook any disruption of her household, or any action that might cause harm to her master and mistress, even if the action was their own. Among other things, it was Mrs. Franklin who forced him to eat after his return from Kent, when he would rather have sat in his rooms with a decanter of brandy.

"It was not my intention to cause such a disruption."

Georgiana gave an unladylike huff. "You thought you could just sneak away and no one would be the wiser?"

"Perhaps I did not think it through properly," Darcy admitted, "but my physical health will not matter if I am driven completely mad. Every time I shift in my seat it is 'Are you well, Mr. Darcy?' 'Shall I summon the physician, Mr. Darcy?' I can barely reach for my pen without the footman looking like he expects me to fall insensible from my seat. It is insufferable. I am very sorry for having worried you," he said contritely, "but perhaps we can agree on an alternate arrangement in terms of my care, for both of our sakes."

After a spirited negotiation, they reached a compromise. There would be a servant stationed outside the door whenever Darcy was alone in a room, and the man would check on his master once an hour, but otherwise leave him to himself. He would also be attended when walking about the house, and would not venture outside alone without express permission from Dr. Jones. Both parties were reasonably satisfied with the terms, Georgiana because help would never be far should Darcy need it, and Darcy because he would finally be given some peace.

Georgiana left to inform Mrs. Franklin of the new development, and Darcy sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh. Alone at long last. Not that he did not appreciate the devotion of his servants, but it was becoming more and more of a struggle to maintain the appearance of the Master of Pemberley, the man who knew what was best and would provide for them all. Propping his elbows on his desk he cradled his head in his hands, letting the heel of his palm rest against his eyes, as a familiar image presented itself to him. Elizabeth, looking at him with eyes widened by fear as he sent his aunt and uncle away. It was worse than when she just hated him, because at least then he could hope to amend his behavior and remove the causes behind her disapprobation. Even when she disliked him, the angry flash of her eyes bespoke a liveliness that enthralled him, but he could never, never forgive himself for being the cause behind that look being replaced with one of timidity and apprehension.

* * *

Darcy continued to mend, though slowly. A month had passed since he had woken up from his coma, and he felt almost his normal self again. He still suffered from nausea and vertigo, but it was much less frequent, and almost always when he was overly tired or distressed. Unfortunately, his dreams were plagued with images of Elizabeth running from him in terror, so he was often tired. Mr. Jones had ordered him to start taking walks for his health, but he was loathe to leave the house and risk collapsing in public, and settled instead for walking around the townhouse – mostly pacing around the ballroom – much to the annoyance of Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam.

At least he had managed to convince Georgiana to leave the house for a time. She should not be forced to bear the burden of worrying over his health as she had been. He had not been as successful in persuading Colonel Fitzwilliam to leave him to himself.

"Darce, if you do not want to be seen in the parks about town maybe you should get out into the country for a time. Bingley certainly would be glad of your company." Privately he added _And Netherfield is close enough that the journey would not tax you unduly._

"No, thank you Fitzwilliam. I have no wish to impose upon anybody in such a way. I would not feel at ease being ill in a house that was not my own."

Fitzwilliam narrowed his eyes, "I do not believe I have ever heard such nonsense from you since you tried to blame yourself for," he cut himself off abruptly not having meant to open up that topic. Mentioning Wickham was not the best way to get his cousin to see sense.

"Since I blamed myself for not acting to stop Wickham, you mean?" Darcy finished for him. "You _can_ speak his name in front of me, you know, it will not kill me to hear of him. Has there been any word of him yet?"

"Not since he landed on the peninsula, but do not try to put me off the topic. You need exercise, and the country air will do you good. Neitherfield, Pemberley, it matters not where you go, but you do need to go somewhere."

"I am doing well enough here, thank you for your concern. I would prefer waiting until I am well enough to remove all the way to Pemberley to asking Bingley to put up with me when I am in such a state."

Fitzwilliam again abused his cousin for his stupidity, but before he could change Darcy's mind a commotion erupted in the front hall, silencing their dispute immediately.

* * *

Georgiana finished speaking with Mrs. Franklin; it had become a daily ritual with the two women to go over not just household matters, but who would be looking after Mr. Darcy, as well as the reports of his 'guard dogs,' as he had taken to calling them, from the day before. This was done without his knowledge, of course, but it provided comfort to Georgiana, as she knew Darcy was frustrated with his lack of progress, and she did not want to upset him by asking him directly about it. Secure in the knowledge that Darcy would be looked after, she joined Mrs. Annesley in the small parlor next to the music room. "Mrs. Annesley, do you think you would like to go out? To the park maybe, or shopping?"

"Is there something specific you would like to buy?"

Georgiana studied the floor a moment, "No." Mrs. Annesley had been Miss Darcy's companion for over a year and knew her charge well enough to wait patiently for the girl to speak her mind. "Is it…is it terribly selfish of me to wish for some diversion? My brother has been so good to me, always seeing to my needs and setting my comfort and desires above his own, and now I have the opportunity to repay him and, well it is not as if I do not _want_ to take care of him, but I fell the need to go out of doors for some time and, oh, I am not making any sense!"

Mrs. Annesley patted the seat next to her and waited for Miss Darcy to seat herself as she pondered the best way to answer the young woman's concerns. "Yes, your brother has been a diligent caretaker. Any body seeing you together can tell how much he cares for you, as well as your love and respect for him in return. But that does not mean that over the past years he has neglected his own needs for your sake. In fact, I seem to remember you insisting that he travel to Hertfordshire to visit with his friend last autumn." Georgiana nodded at this. "You would not wish for him to neglect himself for your sake, and you must give him credit for similar feelings towards you. By all accounts he is out of danger, and the staff here are well-trained, and diligent in caring for him, you need not feel guilty over desiring an hour or two for your own amusement. Young people are not meant to spend all of their time indoors."

"But what if something were to happen to him while I was gone?"

"Miss Darcy, you cannot control everything, and you cannot blame yourself for things that are beyond your control. Forgive me for such plain speech, but it is a trait you share with Mr. Darcy, though he seems to be amending his behavior, at least in terms of not seeking to control all that goes on. His recovery is in God's hands now as much as it was when he was lying abed in Gracechurch Street. The staff are keeping watch over him, and will know what to do. Why do you not speak to Mr. Darcy about it, and if you are still uncomfortable you can leave word with Mrs. Franklin so that you can be contacted immediately should it be necessary."

Georgiana followed Mrs. Annesley's advice, asking permission of her brother for the outing, and then leaving Mrs. Franklin with a list of the shops she wished to visit. Settling into the carriage, Georgiana felt better for this bit of normalcy, though she did wish that she could share the trip with Miss Elizabeth. Surely Lizzy would be able to relieve her trepidation about leaving her brother behind.

Their shopping trip was successful; the proprietor of the music store had just acquired scores for a few pieces that she had heard performed when last in town, and she was looking forward to returning home to attempt the challenging pieces when she saw her Aunt Harriet, Lady ---- coming out of a milliner's shop not twenty yards down the road. Her aunt spotted her not a second later, and eagerly moved to greet her niece.

"Georgiana, my dear, how have you been? It has been too long since we have met?"

Georgiana felt all the awkwardness of meeting with her aunt for the first time since her Uncle Fitzwilliam and Lady Catherine had attempted to remove her from her brother's care, but managed to reply that she was well.

"And how is Fitzwilliam?" Lady Sophia ---- asked, her glance shifting from Georgiana's face to quickly sweep the street behind them, as if she expected him to appear at any moment.

"He is doing much better, Aunt, but he did not come with us today. He preferred to stay home today and attend estate business."

"Are you expected back soon or do you have time for tea? I have missed you, my dear."

Georgiana glanced sideways at Mrs. Annesley, who gave a minuscule shrug: they were not needed at Darcy house, and the decision was Miss Darcy's to make.

"Tea would be wonderful, Aunt."

Georgiana had always got on well with her Fitzwilliam cousins. She was closest to Henry, of course, as he shared in her guardianship, but she had pleasant childhood memories of her other cousins, Viscount ----, and Lady Eleanor as well. She was especially grateful for their kindness in the months following the death of her father. Her aunt and uncle, however, had commanded more respect than affection. Lord ---- and Lady Sophia ---- had approached marriage the same way as many of their set, and both their families had thought the match to be eminently suitable. They were also alike in many ways, which allowed them to get on well together despite the lack of love in their marriage. They both attended more to rank than to the character of the person who carried the title, and worried more about appearances than reality. Georgiana had always felt uncomfortable in their presence, and even more so since Ramsgate; she feared that somehow they would find out, and she had heard enough of their views on 'unequal marriages' and 'scandalous elopements' to dread that occurrence with every fiber of her being.

Her dread was misplaced, however, as almost as soon as they had been seated in a private corner of Lady Sophia's favorite tea shop, the lady in question began speaking of Georgiana coming to visit with her for some weeks. "Poor Fitzwilliam should not be burdened with your care when he is still recovering. You must come and stay with us. Eleanor and I were so put out when you did not come last month after your uncle went to collect you, but I suppose you felt you needed to help care for your brother. That is very noble of you, I am sure, but you must see it is for the best for you to stay with us."

Nothing Mrs. Annesley could say would stop the Countess – she would never listen to a mere servant – and Lady Sophia never paused long enough to allow Georgiana to object. By the time tea arrived, Georgiana was surreptitiously eying the door, and praying that she could get back to Darcy House without causing a public scene. Lady Sophia was more subtle in her attacks than the Earl or Lady Catherine had been, but there was no doubt in Georgiana's mind that they all agreed that removing her from Darcy's care was the proper course of action. She reached out for Mrs. Annesley's hand under the table and relaxed slightly as the woman responded with a reassuring squeeze. Mrs. Annesley might not be able to stop the lady's seemingly unending torrent of speech, but she would not support removing Georgiana from her rightful home.

She came out of her thoughts abruptly to Lady Sophia saying, "Oh, I have just had a marvelous idea. Let me send your carriage back to Darcy House for your things, and then you can come home directly with me. I will send somebody to speak to your coachman directly."

"Wait, Aunt," Georgiana put a hand on her aunt's arm to stop her progress. It was immediately clear that Lady Sophia would not take kindly to a refusal, but Georgiana had another tact in mind. "Would you allow me to write a note to my brother to explain? I would feel better if he knew my feelings on the matter directly from me, rather than from the coachman."

This appeal to Lady Sophia's ideas of rank and responsibility hit its target, and her expression softened as she called for some writing materials.

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_Fitzwilliam,_

_Please do not be alarmed upon receiving this note, we are well. Lady Sophia happened to be shopping today and we met just outside the music store. Even though she is very busy, she insisted we go for tea. As usual, her taste in teashops is impressive. She sends her regrets that she was not able to visit while you were ill. Evidently, my aunt and uncle still wish for me to come and visit, and have sent the coach back for my things so that I may return with her directly._

_Hopefully you are not averse to this, and will send your approval. Elizabeth should be writing to me soon, would you be so kind as to forward the letter to me when it arrives, I would not wish to slight her by suddenly dropping our correspondence. Let me know also how your recovery goes, as I will probably be unable to visit you for some time. Please take care of yourself, Fitzwilliam._

_Georgiana _

Darcy and Fitzwilliam stared at the letter in front of them trying to make sense out of it. The house had been in turmoil when the carriage returned empty, and his coachman had not been able to explain anything beyond that he had a letter from Miss Darcy for the master.

"And she must be very upset to write so disjointed a letter. What does she mean that mother has impressive taste in teashops?" Fitzwilliam said. "You do not think she really means to go?"

Darcy's hand came up to his forehead with a smack, making Fitzwilliam jump and look at him with some concern for his health. "Of course! She could not come right out and ask for help because Aunt Sophia was watching her write the letter." He had grabbed his pen and was scribbling on the bottom of the note as he said, "And of course she does not want to go. She knows as well as you or I that your parents would not allow her to correspond with Miss Elizabeth. Aha! I should have remembered teaching her this bit of foolishness," he said making a few final marks before turning the letter for Fitzwilliam to see.

There were a few lines of nonsense in Darcy's hand, but below it was the phrase "Please help." His eyes looked back up to the letter itself: Darcy had underlined the first letter of the first word in each sentence and he burst out laughing. "I remember us thinking ourselves uncommonly clever when we wrote to each other this way as boys. It is simple, to be sure, but effective."

Darcy nodded. "Will you ride ahead in case they have left the tea shop. I have the feeling that once she enters your father's house it will be quite difficult to get her back out again."

"And what will you do? I will call Parker and we will pray they have not finished their tea. Your mother can hardly cause a scene in public and refuse to let me escort my own sister home." At Fitzwilliam's concerned look he added, "Parker has taken good care of me this last month, I will be fine, and I will not waste time discussing the matter with you."

Two minutes later Darcy and Parker were on their way, while Colonel Fitzwilliam waited impatiently for his horse to be saddled. Darcy fumed silently the entire trip, and Parker was worried that his master would suffer another fit if he continued so, but the ride was a short one, and passed without incident. As they pulled up, Darcy spotted the Fitzwilliam coach, and sighed with relief as he walked into the shop. He barely noticed several conversations falter as he strode to the back of the shop, but part of him realized that he must look a fright. His appearance was impeccable thanks to Parker's insistence, but he knew he looked pale, and his clothes hung from his frame indicating just how sick he had been.

He shook off these thoughts as he finally spotted his sister and aunt. Striking up a friendly, if entirely forced, tone he greeted his aunt with every appearance of good humor. "What a surprise to find you here, Georgiana. Aunt, I was passing by on my way to join Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley, but when I spotted your coach I knew I could not pass by without paying my respects."

"Oh, Fitzwilliam, did you not get the note we sent to you?" Lady Sophia looked as if she had been cornered.

"No, I received no note from you, Aunt," Darcy deliberately misunderstood her. "It is good to see you again, but I have a surprise for Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley, and I do not wish to delay it any longer. Good day." And the trio swept away leaving behind a very stunned Countess.

Once outside the shop, Darcy accepted Parker's arm for support for the few steps to the coach. The encounter had triggered one of his episodes, but to his relief the vertigo was not enough to completely disable him. Still, he did not wish to look like a drunkard.

"Very clever, Georgiana, though I daresay I would have come even had you not desired it. And your talk of corresponding with Miss Elizabeth was enough to prove that you did not."

Georgiana smiled and leaned into her brother's shoulder, "I thought it best I make it as clear as possible without stating it outright."

Darcy began to laugh to himself. "Are you making fun of my letter?" Georgiana asked with some indignation? "I thought it was pretty well done under the circumstances."

"No, I am not laughing at you, dear. I doubt there are many who could have done better in the same situation. No I am laughing because Cousin Henry has won his argument at last, though it is for your safety rather than my health that I am conceding. Still, I will never hear the end of it. Parker, when we get back to Darcy House please begin packing. Georgiana and I will be leaving for Hertfordshire at first light tomorrow."

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**A/N II: As always all comments, positive, negative and otherwise are appreciated. I hope you enjoyed.**


	16. Mutual Discomfort

**AN: Welcome back and sorry for the delay. This chapter did not want to be written, and real life is kicking my butt right now. Enjoy.  
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**cir1967 - yeah, I know most people call Colonel Fitzwilliam Richard, but the great Miss Austen didn't actually give him a first name. I was in an odd mood when it came time to give him a Christian name, and decided not to conform.

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Time is a strange concept. According to scientists, time is a constant with defined properties: sixty seconds always equal one minute, sixty minutes combine to form one hour and so forth. In philosophy, time is sometimes treated as human construct – something that exists only because people say it does – with arbitrary definitions as changeable as people's perception of time. (Though anybody observing the time-based cycles of nature would rightfully scoff at the philosophers who say this, as nature is well-known for laying waste to the constructs of mankind and would not adhere so strictly to the rules of time if it were merely a product of the human mind.) People are forever trying to 'find time' or 'make time' or even 'save time' as if it is something that can be put in a pocket until needed, like a handkerchief. Time can drag, and time can fly, and in odd moments of extreme stress, time can seem to slow almost to a complete stop. It is probably the scientists that have the truth of the matter, but when talking about people, how things are perceived is of equal or greater importance than the truth, and it is these human perceptions that have given rise to such colorful language about the variability of time.

Over the last few weeks, Elizabeth Bennet had ample opportunity to observe the whims and caprices of time, and had experienced nearly every trick that time can play on the mind. There were the moments when she sat in the sickroom fearing that Mr. Darcy would never draw another breath, and time had seemed to stop as she waited for his chest to rise again. There were the long painful hours when she was trying to sleep and could not and the night seemed to stretch into infinity, yet the dawn would come before she was prepared to face it. The brief moments of happiness watching Jane with her betrothed seemed to flash by, leaving only a vague impression of their ever having existed. Despite each day still containing twenty-four full hours, there never seemed to be sufficient time during the course of the day where Elizabeth could be alone, and she felt some envy for her father's right to retreat to his study whenever he felt unequal for company.

Yet, looking back, the days all ran together, having passed her by in a haze of wedding plans, visits from Mr. Bingley, and letters, mostly from Charlotte, Georgiana, and Mrs. Gardiner. She knew through her correspondence with the latter two, that the Darcys had removed to their own home, and that Mr. Darcy was recovering well, if still prone to periods of sullenness that worried his sister. Charlotte's news was of all the trivialities of day-to-day life, caring for the parishioners, forming new acquaintances, and the fact that the drafty chimney in the parlor had finally been fixed. Elizabeth cherished these letters from her friend, taking comfort in knowing that somewhere for some people it was possible to live a life that did not get turned upside-down every few weeks.

It was in a letter from Lydia that she had learned that Mr. Wickham's regiment had been sent to the peninsula, and in idle moments she allowed herself to speculate as to what part Colonel Fitzwilliam had played in bringing that about. Absently, she wondered if Wickham had yet discovered that Mr. Darcy had survived the attempt on his life, or if Lydia would be dressed in widow's weeds when next they met, but these matters could not hold her attention for long. Indeed, nothing could. No topic could gratify her restless mind and no occupation could successfully engage her attention. As soon as the apothecary would allow it, she did her best to occupy herself as normal, walking about the countryside in the mornings, helping with Jane's wedding plans, reading, practicing on the pianoforte, writing letters, visiting neighbors and the like, but suddenly the life she had always known was no longer satisfying.

Jane and Bingley both noticed Elizabeth's growing depression, and did their best to involve her in their conversations and plans, but nothing seemed to help and Jane grew more concerned with every day that passed. Elizabeth would not confide in her, insisting that there was nothing amiss, yet the spark of joy that had always characterized her spirited sister was gone. After a few weeks of watching Elizabeth cringe at her mother's insensitive comments – especially at her warm remembrances of the visit of Mr. and Mrs. Wickham – Jane came to the conclusion that it would be helpful to get Elizabeth away from her family for the day. To that end, she secured an invitation from Mr. Bingley for herself and Elizabeth to visit Netherfield for the day, ostensibly for the opportunity to get Elizabeth's opinion on her plans for redecorating without their mother present.

As Elizabeth climbed into the carriage, she realized that she was actually looking forward to the afternoon; Jane practically radiated with joy when in Bingley's presence, and Elizabeth could not be unaffected. She would take whatever temporary relief could be had for her current melancholy.

When they arrived there was rather more bustle around the house than was normal, but this was soon forgotten as the trio of Bingley, Jane and Elizabeth wandered the principal rooms. Miss Bingley's taste dominated the main drawing room as well as the dining room, and most of the morning was spent planning their alterations to styles less ostentatious. Mr. Bingley's easygoing nature, along with his utter disregard for fashion beyond knowing what pleased him when he saw it, made him less than helpful, but the two sisters soon had everything settled to their satisfaction. After taking tea, a thoroughly embarrassed Bingley lead the women to the mistress's chambers and, blushing furiously, took his leave. Jane's confusion matched that of her fiancé, and Elizabeth could not help collapsing in giggles at the picture they presented, an event which caused Jane's color to rise even higher before she too dissolved into laughter. It was some minutes before they fully regained their composure, and while they were still engaged in their mirth, they missed the sound of a carriage arriving downstairs.

Netherfield Park had not had a proper mistress in nearly forty years – the current owner had been forced by his father's extravagance to retrench many years before he married – and the room was in dire need of updating, even if it was free from the vibrant orange hues Miss Bingley had employed on the main floor, so they spent a happy hour choosing paper for the walls, and debating the color of the linens as well as the style of the furniture to be ordered. Their hesitance at directing the spending of so much money had been largely done away with earlier in the day thanks to Bingley's kind words and gentle insistence, and if Jane was still somewhat diffident, Elizabeth, at least, was determined to see her sister's every whim satisfied, especially in this room.

Finally pleased with their decisions, they made their way downstairs and asked a footman where they might find Mr. Bingley.

"He is entertaining his guests in the front parlor, ma'am," the footman said with a bow.

Jane and Elizabeth exchanged a puzzled look – Mr. Bingley had not mentioned expecting any other guests – and headed towards the front parlor. As they drew nearer they heard the sound of male laughter followed by Mr. Bingley's voice apparently relating some anecdote or other with great spirit., and when they entered it was to see Mr. Bingley sitting across from his guest, whose back was to the door.

"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth's gasp drew the attention of the room though it was little more than a whisper. His shock was equal to hers, as Bingley had not also failed to inform his new guests of the presence of the elder Miss Bennets at Netherfield. There was a moment of awkward silence as Elizabeth and Darcy stared at each other, stunned, but before the tension could mount any higher, it was broken by Georgiana bounding into the room narrowly missing bowling over Miss Bennet in her enthusiasm.

"Lizzy! Oh, how good it is to see you again. Fitzwilliam said that we would have to wait until tomorrow to call at Longbourn, but here you are." Seeming to forget that there were others present in the room, Georgiana threw herself into Elizabeth's arms, nearly smothering her with her enthusiastic embrace.

Elizabeth greeted her friend with pleasure, and introduced her to Jane, before taking a seat next to Georgiana, and just far enough away from Mr. Darcy to make conversation difficult, but not impossible. She had promised herself she would let his behavior be her guide when next they met, and she meant to follow through on that resolve. Elizabeth determined not to show him any excess of attention, and as is the way in cases such as these, was actually more likely to be accused of ignoring him, though she was convinced that she spoke as much to him as ever.

Her lack of conversation with Mr. Darcy was only noticed by Georgiana, however. Bingley was too agreeably engaged in speaking with Jane, and Darcy was lost in his own thoughts to pay any heed to the conversations around him. Over the past weeks, he had found himself imagining his next encounter with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and unconsciously had begun to place a high degree of importance on her initial reaction when they were re-introduced. The look of shock on her face had trampled what remaining hope he had that she might have begun to hold him in some regard. The loving looks he had seen her exchange with her family, and even with Georgiana, would never be his. He felt his chest tighten with at the thought.

"Darcy!" Bingley's worried voice shook him from his reverie, and he looked up to find his friend directly in front of him.

"Sorry, Bingley. What were you saying?"

"Nothing of importance, Darce. Are you unwell? Do you need me to send for your physician?"

"No, that will not be necessary. I am fine, just somewhat tired."

"You are here to rest and recover, do not stand on ceremony. When you need to rest, please do so, you will not give offence by absenting yourself from company, and I daresay we would all be spared the fright of directly addressing you five times without receiving any response." Despite his light tone as he joked about Darcy's inattention, concern still radiated from Bingley's features.

"Forgive me, Bingley. I assure you, however, there is no need to worry so. I am merely more fatigued from the journey than I realized." Darcy excused himself to rest, followed at a discreet distance by a footman – Georgiana still insisted he not be left alone.

While he was present, Elizabeth could only have inquired vaguely as to his health during his convalescence, but his departure allowed her to address Georgiana with more candid questions than she could ever have directed to him. She proceeded to relieve her anxiety about his recovery, and Georgiana was perfectly willing to speak of the past month, and even went so far as to confide the real reason behind their sudden flight to Hertfordshire. "I fear he was not quite recovered enough for even such a short journey as this," she said, "but had we stayed he might just as well have done himself an injury trying to protect me from my family." Georgiana shuddered at the thought. "That is not to say…I do not mean to speak ill of them…that is," she faltered.

"I perfectly understand," Elizabeth comforted the girl. "Your desire to live with your brother does not discredit you. Your aunts and uncle mean well, I am sure, they are just mistaken in their notions of what would truly be in your best interest." Sensing her friend's discomfort, Elizabeth gently turned the conversation to other topics. They talked happily of music and the differences between Derbyshire and Hertfordshire for some time, and before the visit was ended they had made plans for Elizabeth to call the next day for a long walk through the countryside so that Georgiana could compare the two counties for herself.

Next morning, Elizabeth set out for Netherfield shortly after breaking her fast. Summer was nearly past, but the day was sunny and warm, the kind of day that can lift the spirits of all but the most dejected of souls. She skipped energetically across fields, springing over stiles, and thinking with no little wonder on how much had happened since the time nearly a year ago when she had traversed this same path to reach Jane when she had fallen ill. At least on this day her course was not fraught with the perils of inconvenient puddles, and she arrived in Netherfield with her hair looking slightly windblown, but her petticoats quite free of the six inches of mud that had encrusted them last time she presented herself in Netherfield's breakfast parlor.

Bingley quickly offered her a seat and pressed her to take some refreshment before setting out to walk again. Elizabeth politely declined, claiming that she was not at all in need of a rest, but relented when he offered to have the cook make up a small basket so that they might picnic wherever they chose. Mr. Bingley courteously pulled out a chair for her and she took a seat and accepted a cup of tea while they awaited the offered basket.

Elizabeth was not the only person in the room reminded of her previous trek to Netherfield; Mr. Darcy found himself once again admiring the glow that activity had brought to her features, and thinking that even if it was unfashionable to admit it, he thought her hair looked charming when disordered by the wind as it currently was. Her beautiful eyes sparkled with energy as she greeted the other two occupants of the room, and he caught his breath when she turned to greet him as well, so much so that he barely knew what reply he made to her polite salutation. Now, watching her sip her tea while speaking of the beauty of the day outside, he desperately sought for something to say. He knew that she did not – could not – love him, but he was unable to deny himself the pleasure of her company while he could have it, even if his enjoyment was tempered by the knowledge that she would never be his.

During a convenient pause in the conversation, Elizabeth unknowingly relieved Mr. Darcy of his self-imposed burden of beginning a conversation by inquiring if he had fully recovered from his journey.

"I believe so, though it is hard to tell at times," he said candidly. "I may feel perfectly fine one moment, and the next moment find myself bereft of all sense of equilibrium. It happens more often when I am fatigued, but is by no means limited to those times. The worst of it is that I am unable to properly enjoy the day as you plan to do. It is miserable to be restricted to the house or the near shrubbery if I consent to being followed by half a dozen footmen hovering like moths about a flame."

Elizabeth agreed with him heartily. "Although I myself have never been saddled with a retinue intent on catching me should I swoon, I find being confined to the house due to an illness to be nearly as unpleasant as actually being ill."

By the time Bingley had concurred, and Georgiana had shyly ventured that the restriction was for his own benefit, the picnic basket had arrived, and Elizabeth and Georgiana rose to take their leave of the gentlemen. Elizabeth was quite satisfied with her initial attempt at acting the 'indifferent acquaintance' with Darcy, while Darcy was ruthlessly trying to quash the small flame of hope that had just arisen within his breast. _Do not be foolish, man_, he berated himself, _her manners to you are no different than they are to Bingley or any other among her acquaintance. She was polite to Lady Catherine as well last Easter, and you know what she thinks of that old harridan_.

Life soon settled once again into a comforting pattern at both Longbourn and Netherfield. Visits were exchanged often between the two houses, and within a week of his sudden arrival, Mr. Darcy began to accompany his sister and his friend on their visits. Elizabeth and Georgiana were often in each other's company, and the latter's bourgeoning confidence soon led her to form a steady friendship with both Mary and Kitty as well, which served to the mutual benefit of all three. Kitty's loyalty was fully transferred from Lydia to Georgiana, and she began to mimic her new friend's manners as assiduously as she had ever done with Lydia and, to her surprise, she found the attention she received over the course of an intelligent conversation – or at least one that was not entirely frivolous – was much more flattering than what had been directed at her and Lydia. With Georgiana's solicitous encouragement, Kitty also discovered a love pianoforte and was soon practicing as much as Mary ever had, to grater effect.

It might be expected that this event might cause some resentment in her studious sister, but it seemed that Mary had discovered a talent of her own. Serious, bookish Mary, who had never in her life taken up a pen or pencil unless it was to pen some scholarly observation or other, possessed the heart of an artist. Though she would undoubtedly benefit from the tutelage of a master, everybody agreed that her eye for color was exquisite. From this advantageous starting point, it took only a little prodding to induce her to apply her ability towards improving her wardrobe. The addition of a few ribbons, and some alterations suggested by Georgiana based on the latest fashions in London, soon had most of the neighborhood rethinking their impression of the 'plain Bennet sister.'

Both Elizabeth and Darcy managed to maintain a cordial relationship with each other that was satisfying to neither. He missed her teasing, and how she had, using humor and without giving offence, managed to force him to reexamine his ideas and behavior. Elizabeth was ashamed to admit it even to herself, but what she missed was the knowledge that his eyes were on her as she moved about the room. He had never been a verbose man, and, of course, she at first thought him looking to find fault, but time had given her a better understanding of him. Once, he had looked upon her with admiration and love, but she had rejected his suit with violent and cruel words and what man would humble himself a second time to a woman who had scorned him thus. She even began to be frustrated with his continual presence. _Why, if he comes only to be silent, grave, and indifferent_, thought she, _does he come at all?_

Georgiana and Jane both noticed some awkwardness in the behavior of their respective siblings when in company, and to varying degrees of accuracy sought to understand it. Georgiana had long known of Darcy's feelings for Elizabeth, but the two were interacting like they had known each other but briefly. Having only their time together at Pemberley and the Gardiner's as a guide, when they were all that was amiable to each other, she wondered if they had had a falling out of some sort, though she was at a loss to determine when it could have happened. Regardless of the specific nature of the disagreement, she surmised that her brother was oppressed by unrequited love. Jane's suppositions were not so accurate. Elizabeth had not shared her feelings for Darcy with Jane, and had spoken but little of their meetings in Pemberley, or their interactions at the Gardiner's. All Jane knew of the latter she owed to Bingley's information which had in turn come from Colonel Fitzwilliam. With no reason to suspect any attachment to Darcy – she thought him little more than the man whose suit Elizabeth had rejected, and the brother to her friend – Jane failed to divine the ultimate cause of Elizabeth current discomfiture, thinking it merely a new, distressing development in her prolonged melancholy.

One afternoon Jane brought the subject up while on a walk with Bingley. "I am concerned for Elizabeth, Charles. She is not happy, and does not wish to speak of what troubles her. I am glad that she takes some pleasure in her friendship with Miss Darcy, and at first I thought that she would break free of her melancholy, but she is not herself. I do not know how to explain it properly, but she is as if she is ill at ease with herself as well as with those around her. Does that make any sense? I fear I am making a muddle of explaining myself, but I would value your advice, my dear. I cannot seem to be of any use to her, and it pains me to see her so downhearted."

Bingely pondered Jane's words for a moment. "I understand your meaning, but I must confess I have not noticed anything alarming in Miss Elizabeth's manner. Your knowledge of your sister is superior to my own, so I do not doubt your observations, but with all that she has been through of late, I believe I must have attributed any differences I thought I observed to that cause."

"It is just that I feel so helpless, and she was so kind to me when…"

"When what, my love?"

Jane had stopped walking as she let her sentence trail off, and was now looking determinedly down, her chin nearly touching her chest as she whispered, "When you left Netherfield. When you did not visit in London."

Bingley took both of her hands in one of his, and with the other raised her chin so that he could see her face. He stood like that for several seconds, simply staring into her eyes, before sighing deeply. "It was hard enough when I thought I was the only one suffering due to our separation. The thought that you did not desire my attentions was the only thing that could possibly have kept me from your side, but I swear that I will spend the rest of my days making amends."

Jane let him pull her into a tight embrace and lay her head against his chest, relishing the feeling of safety she found there, and taking comfort in knowing how deeply she was loved. "There is no need to make amends. I would say that I have forgiven you, but there is truly nothing to forgive in your actions. It was an unfortunate misunderstanding, and one that has been clarified and is now in the past. Let us act as St. Paul wrote, 'forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before.'* We have so much to look forward to together."

Bingley marveled at his fiancé's forgiving nature and her wisdom, as he kissed each of her hands in turn. "You are quite correct, my dear," he said, drawing her hand through his arm so that they could continue their walk. "Now I must ask you something. You say your sister was kind to you when we were separated, but was that kindness enough to alleviate your sorrow?"

"It was a comfort to know that she was there, ready to listen should I need her to, or to give advice should I desire it, but no, her solicitude was not sufficient to mend my heart."

Bingley nodded. "Darcy tried for months to keep me occupied and entertained, but there was nothing that could chase you from my mind, or fill the hole left in my heart. Now that I see him struggling with his recovery, I am tempted to do the same for him, distracting him from his troubles, but it is not his nature to ask for assistance, or to accept any weakness in himself. For now, I have to content myself with doing what little he does ask of me, and knowing that he is aware that I stand ready to do more, when and if he should desire it. I do not mean to say that your sister is crossed in love, or that she has suffered anything as drastic as Darcy, but perhaps the most beneficial thing for her is just to know that you are there for her. I think their tempers are not dissimilar in that respect; Miss Elizabeth will decide when she is ready for help, and knows that she can confide in you. When she does come to you, then you can decide how best to proceed. Until that time, there is little that you can do for her but continue as you have been."

Jane saw the wisdom in Bingley's words, and though she still wished something could be done for Elizabeth's immediate relief, she resolved to be content with the small gestures of love and support she could offer her sister.

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**AN: Coming to a close I think...only a few chapters left to go. I can actually see the light at the end of the tunnel now. This chapter was fairly hard for me to write, and I'm not thrilled with it, mostly because when they misunderstand each other this way I kind of want to knock their heads together and yell at them to talk to each other, but at the same time I don't think they actually would just yet... *sigh***

**Anyway, Thanks for reading, drop me a review if you feel so inclined.  
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*Philippians 3:13 King James Version


	17. My Sun Sets to Rise Again

**AN: Surprise! Just when you were beginning to think me negligent, we get to a chapter that was too fun for me to stop writing. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

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"No."

"I will be back in half an hour."

"No."

"I will not venture far."

"No!"

"I have not had a dizzy spell in nearly a week."

"But you might have one at any time. I am not as convinced of your recovery as you are. Either someone goes with you or you do not go."

"Fine. Fine! I daresay Bingley would join me for a ride."

Georgiana nodded her approval. "And you are not riding Hermes." She cut off his attempted protest with a gesture. "Apollo."

"Apollo is ancient! The only reason Bingley keeps him at all is to stud. He is barely fit to be ridden."

"He is not so decrepit as you make him out to be, and at least I know he will not try and throw you."

Darcy sighed, sensing argument was fruitless. His sister's mild temperament and kind words had easily won the loyalty of the Netherfield staff. They none of them would defy her orders. "When did you grow into such a decisive young woman, Georgiana?"

"About the time you began acting like a spoiled child, Fitzwilliam," she retorted, smiling to ease some of the sting of her words.

"Well, you cannot tell me you would act any differently had you been under constant supervision for nearly two months and not allowed to leave the house, and" he stopped himself suddenly realizing that he truly did sound like a petulant child. His sudden laughter startled Georgiana slightly. "I apologize, dearest. I hope my ill-temper has not caused you too much trouble. I promise to cease behaving like a child just off leading strings, though I would be grateful if you could stop treating me like I was made of fine china and about to shatter."

"I will try, William, I promise. You know it is only out of concern for your safety that I act so."

"I know."

Satisfied with their truce, the siblings parted, Georgiana to inform the stablemaster of the conditions of her brother's parole, and Darcy to seek out Bingley and dress for his ride, the first he had been allowed since Wickham's most recent treachery.

* * *

"Damnit!" Bingley swore as he dismounted. Of course his horse would come up lame now, he thought angrily, carefully inspecting the offending limb. Yes, there it was, a stone had gotten lodged between the shoe and hoof. He looked in the direction Darcy and Apollo had gone and shook his head, he could not follow them now. The best course of action would be to walk back to Netherfield and procure a new mount. He sighed deeply and bent his steps towards his home, hoping that all was well with his friend.

His return to the house sent Georgiana into a near frenzy, but it was what happened as he was waiting the swiftest horse in his stables, Zephyr, to be saddled that resulted in her ending up in his arms, being carried to the nearest couch while he shouted for Mrs. Nichols to bring the smelling salts.

Apollo had trotted, riderless, into the stable yard.

* * *

_God, I wish I had insisted on riding Hermes. It is not as if any situation could be worse than this. Well, Georgiana will have to take comfort in being right that Apollo possesses more spirit than I credited him with_, Darcy thought ruefully, using every ounce of horsemanship he possessed to maintain his seat. It was almost funny how Georgiana had tried so hard to protect him only for him to end up here. He and Bingley had been near the border between Netherfield and Longbourn and about to turn back when Apollo had been startled by a grouse suddenly taking flight directly in front of him. Before Darcy could calm the animal, Apollo had gotten the bit between his teeth and was galloping wildly, completely oblivious to Darcy's attempts to direct him.

He groaned as he saw where Apollo was headed. Careening full tilt across open fields with no control of the animal below him did not terrify him as much as it should; in fact it was somewhat exhilarating despite – or perhaps because of – the obvious danger, but they were now advancing on a small wood and Apollo showed no signs of slowing or turning onto another course. Darcy bent lower to his mount's neck and, within seconds, trees were flashing by in his peripheral vision while he tried to concentrate on anticipating any sudden moves by his horse.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was fatigue. Or it could have been the constant motion on the edges of his vision. In all probability, it was some combination of the three, but suddenly the world no longer content with flying past at high speed, but had also begun spinning wildly. _I was wrong before, the situation _could_ get worse._ His self-pity was cut short by Apollo abruptly changing direction, nearly unseating him once again. Fighting back nausea, and wincing against the growing ringing in his ears, Darcy leaned forward once again, gripped Apollo's neck as securely as he was able, and closed his eyes waiting for the motion – both real and in his head – to cease, not at all sure he would be able to recognize that moment when it finally came.

As he felt a branch nearly catch the collar of his jacket and scrape down his back, Darcy began to pray.

* * *

He did not know how much time had passed. He did not really care. The two most important facts in his world right now were that he was alive, and that, given the lack of air movement around him, he assumed that Apollo had finally stopped running. Darcy could feel the stallion panting from his exertions, and his own breathing was scarcely less ragged. Unfortunately, the ringing in his ears had not abated, nor had the sensation of movement or the nausea, and he judged it best to not try and move just yet. As it was, he thought if he opened his mouth he would be in considerable danger of forfeiting possession of his breakfast. Fervently, he hoped Charles would find him soon.

A hand touched his arm.

_God bless you, Bingley_, he thought, still judging it unwise to open his mouth. He was being addressed, but could not quite make out the words. A pause, and a more urgent series of unintelligible words accompanied by increased pressure on his arm. Darcy forced his right hand to release its grip on Apollo and brought his fingers to his temple allowing a small groan to escape him when that small movement exacerbated his disequilibrium. That would have to suffice for a response. Bingley would know what he meant, he hoped.

The hand patted his arm in what he took for understanding, and vanished for a moment before returning briefly to press something into his hands. The rein he had dropped. Trust Bingley to try and make sure he was at his ease while trapped on a horse's back unable to move. If he had not felt so poorly, he might have chuckled. Soon, he felt Apollo begin to walk, but with a blessed sedateness that suggested he was being led.

About a minute passed before he felt Apollo stop once again, and he was pleased that the nausea had subsided a good deal during the interval. He thought he might be capable of speaking without being violently ill now.

His friend spoke again.

"Forgive me, but there is still such a ringing in my ears that I cannot understand you."

He was answered by a pressure on his forearm that lasted only for a second. Before he could attempt to decipher the meaning behind the contact, he felt his foot being removed from the stirrup, and was surprised when the sole of his boot made contact with something solid less than a few inches away.

"------ Darcy --- ----ou thi-- --- -an dismoun------ ------ --- tree -- ---- --able." The ringing in his ears was either beginning to subside somewhat, or Bingley had raised his voice, Darcy decided.

Well, even if he did not hear the whole thing, the message was clear. Taking a careful breath he said "I can try, but I will likely need some support."

He could not understand the reply, but a pair of hands was soon gripping his elbow firmly. Slowly, Darcy worked his other foot free from its stirrup, and cautiously shifted his weight to bring it around. _Bingley must be tired. It cannot have been easy to follow a spooked Apollo_, Darcy thought as the supporting hands wavered somewhat while steadying him. It took some time, and a considerable amount of assistance, but he eventually found both his feet firmly planted on what he assumed was a fallen tree.

Just as he had managed to get into a seated position, Apollo tired of his enforced inactivity. Luckily, Darcy was already in the process of releasing his grip on the saddle as he felt the stallion rear back, and so was not toppled from his seat, though it was a close run thing.

"Good riddance," he murmured, leaning forward to rest his forehead on his knees. "I can safely say that I would be quite happy never to lay eyes on that ill-mannered equine ever again."

They sat in silence for several minutes, until a worrying thought occurred to Darcy. "I fear Georgiana's reaction when Apollo returns to Netherfield, as he no doubt will. Perhaps you could go and set her at ease? I will be well enough sitting here."

"I am afraid that will not be possible, Mr. Darcy," came the voice of Elizabeth Bennet from his side.

This time, Darcy did fall off the log.

* * *

It was a beautiful autumn day; the air was brisk and possessed of that odd clarity that makes the far appear near and gives colors more vibrancy than seems natural. It was insupportable to Elizabeth's mind to remain indoors on such a day, but as she descended the stairs after completing her toilette, she knew without a doubt that before breakfast finished she would find her entire day planned out for her. Mrs. Bennet would claim to require her help for some unnecessary task or other, adding that she didn't want Elizabeth's dour mood to put Mr. Bingley off their dear Jane. Jane would try and counter her mother's unthinking insults with some scheme or other to keep Lizzy involved, and suddenly, between the two of them, Elizabeth would be trapped indoors suffering under the attentions of her overbearing mother and her solicitous sister. Heavens, but it was frustrating sometimes. Could they not just leave her to herself for once? Had they never just needed time to think on their own?

Lizzy knew that she was being unkind. Her mother was misguided, perhaps, but her intentions were just as well-meant as Jane's, and neither was of a disposition that led them towards introspection, so she could not justly fault them for not comprehending her need for solitude. Her father would have understood, but it was not in his nature to challenge his wife and thus disrupt his own routine for anything short of an absolute disaster, such as a daughter eloping. Even so, he would not stop her from escaping the house as long as no plans had already been made on her behalf.

With this in mind, she peeked into the breakfast parlor. Mr. Bennet was not alone, but she did not expect any opposition from Mary, so she slipped quietly into the room. Casting a conspiratorial look at her father, she picked up a napkin from the table and bundled two muffins inside the cloth, tying it into a neat package. "I fancy a walk this morning, Papa."

Mary gave her a slightly disapproving look, knowing full well that Mrs. Bennet would likely cause a scene when she discovered Elizabeth's absence, but returned to her toast without commenting as Mr. Bennet answered his favorite daughter, "Very well, Lizzy. Should we expect you back soon, or will you be calling on Miss Darcy?"

"I may, Papa. I shall be back by dinner." And with a heart lightened by her successful escape, Elizabeth nearly skipped out of the room, not even finishing tying her bonnet before she was out of the house, heading for her favorite – and most secluded – walk and some much anticipated time to herself.

The fallen tree she was sitting on was in a location that embodied everything that was idyllic to Elizabeth. It was on the edge of a clearing that was surrounded on three sides by woodlands and situated so that she could look out on the forth side to see a vista of rolling hills covered in wildflowers. The leaves were just beginning to turn, and the last flowers of summer were mingling with the first of the autumnal blooms, so that the world around her was a riot of colors from deep violet to muted pinks and greens to loud oranges that put her in mind of one of Miss Bingley's favorite gowns. For a long time she just sat, not thinking on anything in particular, being glad that for this space of time nothing more was required of her than to just exist. It was a wonderful feeling, and one that she had nearly forgotten in the turmoil of the weeks past.

A rumble from her stomach brought her back to the present time, and she unwrapped her breakfast and broke off a piece of muffin. As she ate, she wandered to the nearby stream, thinking she might do something very daring and go wading in the shallows. After all, there was nobody nearby to observe her. She carefully picked her way down to the bank, looking for a dry spot where she could sit and remove her boots, but before she found what she sought, her eyes lit upon a small yellow-green plant growing in one of the deep, calm pools that graced the stream's banks. She had never noticed this species growing near her home before, and seeing it now called up vivid memories. The first and only time she had seen this curious water-plant was while walking with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner and Mr. Darcy along the river in the park at Pemberley.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. Those days would remain some of her most pleasant memories for the rest of her life. Finally finding a suitable place, she sat down, but did not move to unlace her boots, instead losing herself in contemplation. She saw now that she had already been in love with Darcy by the time he had introduced her to Georgiana at the inn. Ironic that she would only fully recognize this now, when his manner had made it clear that he no longer returned the sentiment. If only Lydia had not…No! That line of thought was not worth pursuing. It would only lead to vain wishes and painful memories. What was done and past could not be changed. Had she not recently told Colonel Fitzwilliam that 'what cannot be changed must be endured?' It was time that she put the philosophy into practice in her own life.

The sun had by this point risen high enough to considerably warm the day, and the idea of wading in the stream began to appeal to her again, however, once more the scheme was destined to be disrupted. This time it was not a curious water-plant, but the crashing of underbrush and the abrupt appearance of a horse and rider in the previously quiet glade that interrupted her.

She rose quickly to survey the scene in front of her, thankful that the rider had appeared now rather than five minutes from now when she might have been caught with her skirts up and her calves bare. The horse was lathered with exertion yet still energetic enough to be tossing its head irritably. The rider did not seem to be in much better state, bent so low that he was flush against his mount's neck, and the knuckles of the hand she could see, even from this distance, were obviously white with the strength of his grip, though beyond that she could discern little thanks to his nearly-prone posture.

Careful not to further spook the animal, she made her way slowly towards the pair thinking the gentleman might be in need of some assistance. As she approached, she grew steadily more alarmed at the rider's lack of motion. Surely he must be conscious; an unconscious man would certainly have been thrown during whatever wild gallop had so exhausted both horse and man. Drawing nearer, she saw that his face was turned into the stallion's neck, but there was no longer any mistaking whom it was. "Mr. Darcy?" she pitched her voice so as not to startle the horse, but despite its lack of volume, she was worried when he did not respond. Now near enough to grab the bridle, she stroked the horse's muzzle seeking to calm it, and tried again, "Mr. Darcy, are you injured? Mr. Darcy?"

Still nothing. The only motion in his form was the rapid expansion and contraction of his chest with each breath.

Keeping secure hold of the bridle she reached towards his face, but stopped herself before making contact. He would not welcome such intimacy from her. Willing her hand to cease trembling, she laid it instead on his forearm instead, and relief washed through her as she felt his muscles contract in surprise at her touch, but he still did not speak. An idea occurred to her. "Mr. Darcy, can you hear me?"

Nothing, which was probably answer enough.

The horse seemed much calmer now, and she ventured to raise her voice slightly, "Mr. Darcy, I am going to lead your horse over to a tree so that you can dismount. Do you understand?"

She had not really expected a response. She had spoken mostly because it seemed wrong not to at least attempt to tell him what was happening, and so she was surprised when he did answer her, in a way. Darcy released his grip on the reins with one hand, and pressed his hand to his head, moaning softly. He must be suffering one of his fits again, she decided. That would explain his stillness. Georgiana had related in a letter how frightened she was the first time she found him in such a state, unable to respond to her anxious queries. What was his explanation again? Oh, yes, he had told her that at their worst there was such ringing in his ears that he could not hear what was going on around him.

Why in heaven's name was he riding out _alone_?

She patted his arm once in what she hoped he took for comprehension. If he was having a fit, it would be useless speaking to him until it passed. Even if the silence did feel awkward it was much preferable to inadvertently spooking his horse.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a breeze playing with the rein he had just released. Never entirely comfortable on horseback herself, it occurred to Elizabeth that Darcy might prefer to have both reins in his possession, even if he was unable to utilize them at the moment. Besides, the horse might tire of being tractable and take off again. She watched as his fingers explored the material, saw his grip shift as he realized what it was he held, and noticed the ghost of a grin flit across his lips. Whatever could he find amusing in this situation? Shaking her head, she firmed her grip on the bridle, and guided stallion and rider to the tree where she had sat earlier.

Once she arrived at the fallen tree, she faced a new problem: clearly, he would be safer if he dismounted, but how was she going to communicate this to him? Maybe he could hear her now.

"Mr. Darcy, there is a solid tree right at the same height as your foot. Can you dismount?"

She was rewarded for this speech with a verbal answer, though his voice was hoarse and strained, "Forgive me, but there is still such a ringing in my ears that I cannot understand you."

There was only one other way she could see to help him understand, and while it was certainly beyond the bounds of propriety, the circumstances justified it, and anyway, there was nobody to see. Making sure the horse was still content to remain motionless, she touched his arm, letting him know she was still there, and then boldly took hold of his ankle and proceeded to remove his boot from the stirrup and place it firmly on the trunk of the tree. He did not resist her, but now that his face was no longer pressed so firmly into the horse's neck she could see that he was surprised by the action.

She raised her voice "Mr. Darcy, do you think you can dismount? I promise this tree is quite stable."

He must have understood her this time, because he answered, "I can try, but I will likely need some support."

That had not occurred to her. Darcy was a tall man, by no means heavyset, but by all appearances well-muscled, even taking into account his recent convalescence. If he overbalanced she did not think she could support his weight, and even attempting such a thing was a considerable bit less proper than her freeing his foot from the stirrup. The horse chose that moment to shift his weight somewhat, deciding her. If the horse decided to take off again, she vowed, it would not be with Mr. Darcy on its back. "Very well, I shall do my best."

It was not easy. Darcy was moving with excruciating slowness, and his sense of balance was much disturbed if the amount of weight he put on her was any indication. There were a few moments where they were both close to tumbling to the ground, but after several tiring minutes, she watched with some considerable satisfaction as got both feet firmly on the tree trunk and began lowering himself into a seated position.

Forgetting her surroundings in her success, she let out a spurt of relieved laughter. Apparently, enough was enough for the beleaguered stallion, and he tossed his head, jerking free of Elizabeth's grip on his bridle, then shouldered her aside as he sped away in the direction of his stable.

Elizabeth stumbled back, clenching her hand against the sting of the leather being ripped from her hand, and as she tried to regain her footing her left foot landed askew, aided by the uneven ground. She felt a pop in her ankle, and her leg buckled under her, resulting in a hard landing which forced all the air from her lungs with a loud 'oomph.' Forcing herself to draw a painful, half-coughing breath, she looked up at Darcy, relieved to find that he had not been upset as well.

_Stupid_, she chided herself, _after all that, to go and startle the beast yourself. Well, done Lizzy._ After a bit more coughing her breathing returned to normal, and she turned her attention to the ache in her hand. There was a small cut which, thankfully, was not bleeding much, but the majority of her palm was red and tender to the touch. There did not seem to be any cause for concern there though. Pleased with her self-inventory, she shifted her position, resulting in a painful reminder that she had turned her ankle while falling.

Elizabeth's hiss of pain nearly caused her to miss Darcy begin speaking. "Good riddance. I can safely say that I would be quite happy never to lay eyes on that ill-mannered equine ever again." She could have laughed at the absurdity of such a statement while they were in the current predicament: he unable to open his eyes, and she incapable of walking. Presently, she successfully maneuvered herself to a seat on the tree, and she sat silently waiting for Darcy to give some other indication that he was recovered enough to hold a conversation.

"I fear Georgiana's reaction when Apollo returns to Netherfield, as he no doubt will. Perhaps you could go and set her at ease? I will be well enough sitting here." His voice was decidedly stronger, if somewhat muffled since his forehead was still resting on his knees.

Even though he could not see her, she smiled a thin, amused smile as she looked down at her ankle. It had barely borne her weight for the few steps it took her to gain her current perch; it would not carry her to either Netherfield or Longbourn. "I'm afraid that will not be possible, Mr. Darcy."

It would have been surprising enough to Elizabeth had Darcy just heard her and responded normally – she was still uncertain how well he could hear her – but she completely unprepared for him jerking upright as though suddenly doused with ice-cold water, and she certainly had not meant to startle him to the point of falling backwards off the trunk of the tree with an almost comical expression of shock on his features.

Ignoring the pain in her ankle, she scrambled down from her seat and knelt on the ground next to him. "Mr. Darcy," her eyes darted up and down his form looking for any sign of injury, "are you injured?"

He had not taken his eyes off her face, and had to blink hard several times before he could form an answer, which came out, "Where did Bingley go?" _Dash it,_ he thought, _I did not mean to say that._

"Mr. Bingley? I have not seen him since you were both at Longbourn yesterday," she said, her confusion and concern evident, "Did you hit your head when you fell, sir?"

Darcy flushed with embarrassment as he realized what her statement meant concerning the events of the past half-hour. It was her that he had leaned on while climbing down from Apollo, not Bingley. _She will not lightly forgive such an imposition, even if it was unintentional. I must set her at ease about it_. He sat up, waving away her attempt to assist him with a small smile. "No, I did not hit my head Miss Elizabeth. It is just that when you approached me earlier, I assumed that it was Bingley who had found me. We had been riding together when Apollo was startled," and he briefly filled her in on the events that had occurred prior to his appearance in her clearing. "Naturally, I assumed that Bingley had followed. I would never have…that is please forgive me for even suggesting…I did not mean to…" _Come on man, stop blithering like an idiot._ Before he could form a coherent apology, she stopped him short with a look. There was so much in her eyes. Surely, a man could spend a lifetime looking into those eyes and still not have managed to decipher half of what was written there. What he wouldn't give to have the privilege of doing just that.

"What is there to apologize for? For accepting help when you were in distress? You did not force any action upon me, and I did nothing that I would not freely do again in the same circumstance. Given the speed at which your stallion ran off just now, I am heartily glad you were not still mounted. I would not have liked for you to come to harm through my inactivity." Thinking that she had said too much, she looked away, blushing

Abruptly Darcy realized they were still seated on the ground, and that his dizziness had completely passed. Rising with care so as to not trigger another episode, he extended his hand to help Miss Elizabeth to her feet. She gratefully accepted the offer, aware that she would have difficulty standing on her own, but despite mentally bracing herself, she could not stop her hand from tightening on his when she put weight on the bad ankle.

"What is the matter? Are you injured?" Ashamed of himself for not doing so before, he looked more closely at the woman before him. He was alarmed to find that there were a few spots of blood on her dress, though it was entirely possible that the blood was his own. She was also paler than usual, but did not look to be otherwise hurt, however he was sure that _something _had caused her to grip his hand almost painfully tight as she stood.

His voice was laced with such care that Elizabeth did not think she could stand it. How was she to stop loving him when he was being so kind to her? Unable to bear the concern in his eyes, she looked down and tried to speak in an unaffected voice. "When the horse bolted, I was unfortunate enough to be holding on to his bridle. His sudden motion knocked me to the ground, and I fear I have sprained my ankle. That is why I said before that it would be impossible for me to go to Netherfield to assure your sister of your safety."

She was hurt and it was his fault. Damn. "Please, allow me," he gestured towards their erstwhile seat, and after a slightly hesitant nod he placed his hands on her waist, and lifted her easily back onto the tree, kneeling at her feet. "May I?" he asked, "We should make sure it is not broken." She nodded again, and he carefully removed her left boot, and – after stripping off his riding gloves – gently began feeling the bones and flexing and extending her foot. It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than the fact that there was only a thin stocking between his hand and her calf, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to banish the half-formed thoughts invading his mind. As he fought to regain his composure, he forced himself to concentrate on replacing her boot, lacing it firmly in the hope that the pressure would help to reduce the swelling somewhat. When he was finished, he judged himself capable of rational speech again, but was nearly undone when he looked up to see her eyes intently studying him. She looked puzzled, as if his actions were the greatest enigma she had ever seen, yet behind that was a wistful sadness that caused his heart to constrict. "I…It does not seem to be broken," he managed to stammer.

"Thank you," she breathed, still holding him captive with that curious look.

"No, thank you," was his earnest rejoinder, as he finally forced himself to stand and seated himself on the log, rather nearer to her than was probably wise. "You were injured while coming to my aid, I am in your debt."

She blushed deeply, but negated the debt quickly, "Hardly, sir. I merely suffer from a sprained ankle. You nearly died for the assistance you rendered Lydia and the rest of my family, though they are unaware of that. Please allow me to thank you, in the name of all my family, for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Were it known to the rest of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express."

During her speech, she had seen a variety of emotions displayed on Darcy's face. Surprise, disappointment, for some reason there was a moment of fear, but by the time she had done, he had schooled his face to show all the emotion and warmth of a granite statue. "Gratitude." Darcy nearly spat the word with shocking vehemence, but he continued in a softer tone, though his voice was still thick with emotion, "I did not act to secure your _gratitude_ Miss Bennet."

"I understand that, sir, but you have it all the same. Could you expect me to feel otherwise? I would be an ungrateful wretch indeed not to be humbled by your exertions, the mortification you bore, and the perils you suffered. Do you truly think so ill of me as to believe I would not be grateful to the man who saved the reputation of my sister and all my family?" Elizabeth had managed to work herself up to anger without quite understanding why. _I would give you more than my gratitude, Mr. Darcy, yet you spurn even that._

A chill silence sat between them for several seconds before Darcy spoke in a cool, detached voice. "Think ill of you? I believe I made it very clear in April that my feelings are quite the opposite."

Elizabeth's eyes widened in shock, and the flush of anger drained from her face. "April…" it was a mere whisper. "But I was so cruel in refusing you. After abusing you so abominably, how could you still…"

He could no longer continue to sit next to her and not touch her, not when they were discussing this. Reaching out tentatively, he laid his hand on top of hers to silence her. When she did not pull away, he took her hand into his own, drawing small circles in her palm with his thumb. "What did you say of me that I did not deserve? No, my behavior to you at the time had merited the severest reproof, and by you I was properly humbled. But while I venture to hope that I have succeeded in changing my manners for the better, my affections and wishes are not so easily altered."

"Oh." There was so much she wanted to say, but she could not seem to form the words. Not that she could have spoken even if she had known what to say; right now it was a small miracle that she was still sitting upright. Did he know how maddeningly distracting his touch was? How was it that he could affect her so profoundly with such a simple act? Yet, she sensed that if she did not speak soon, the moment would be passed. Already she could feel the tension in his hand as he continued to stroke her palm. Desperately, she groped for an appropriate phrase. "I am glad," she managed.

The motion of his thumb ceased abruptly and his breath hitched. "Truly?"

She nodded, and forced herself to look up into his face, finding it rendered even more handsome by the expression of heartfelt delight it bore.

"Elizabeth," he sighed.

"Darcy! Thank God I have found you!" Bingley's voice echoed across the clearing.

* * *

**AN: Good. Now that's done everybody can put down the pitchforks and extinguish the torches, and I can stop wanting to yell at the main characters, even if things aren't _quite _settled yet. I toyed a lot with potential ways to get them together and vulnerable enough that they would drop some of their walls, so I hope you liked it. This chapter was a lot of fun for me to write. Now, my question to you, (yes, once again I'm begging writing advice) once I have Elizabeth and Darcy interacting, the POV is switching back and forth a lot. Is this confusing? (I know what I mean to write, so it all makes sense to me when I review it).**

**PS I've re-read this and found several typos, and a few stupid editing errors. Thanks to those who brought some of these to my attention, and to everybody else who puts up with my terrible editing.  
**


	18. Proposal, Interrupted

Bingley expertly and – most importantly – swiftly guided Zephyr to the edge of the wood that Apollo had been racing towards when he had been forced to stop. At the border between open field and dense wood he paused for a moment to catch his breath and determine how best to proceed. The last half hour had been more than hectic, and he had to fight against the various images that kept presenting themselves for his consideration: Apollo returning to the stableyard riderless; Georgiana's swoon; Mrs. Nichols promising to care for Georgiana, who was sitting in the parlor wrapped in several warm shawls and quite obviously going into shock; addressing the men assembled to form the search party; and above all not giving in to the fear and guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. He was supposed to be aiding in his friend's recovery. He was supposed to protect Darcy, as Darcy had done so many times for him.

"This will not do!" he shouted at himself, causing his horse to shy and bringing him back to awareness of the task in front of him. "I cannot give way to such morbid thoughts," he continued in a calmer tone, seeking to calm the horse as much as himself. "He will be well. Besides, it will do him no good if my bad temper gets me thrown from my own mount." With that, Bingley dismounted, and entered the woods, looking desperately for signs of Apollo's flight.

Soon – as soon as the draft horses could be harnessed, and the carts driven across the fields – two cartloads of able-bodied men would be combing these woods searching for their master's friend. Before leaving, Bingley had described the location in some detail, and given orders to have the majority of the search party begin their endeavors from here.

But this was _Darcy._ Every bone in Bingley's body had revolted against the idea of waiting for the carts to arrive, and instead he had galloped ahead, trying – and failing – to banish the mental image of him arriving to find a bleeding and broken Darcy just a moment too late to save him.

It was not quite relief that Bingley felt when he finally located the trail. Relief could only come if – _would_ only come _when _– he found Darcy alive and well. Leading Zephyr, Bingley was grateful that his quarry had been more concerned with successful and speedy flight than in preventing pursuit; he was having a hard enough time following the trail as it was. Perhaps he would invest in some scenthounds, he thought to himself. Most of the sport he engaged in used gun hounds to flush the game, but they were not needed to track by scent, and not bred for such. True, there was little course hunting in Hertfordshire, but a bloodhound or a foxhound would not be too strange an acquisition, and would certainly be useful right now.

Bingley moved haltingly through the woods, noting a hoof print on the edge of a small stream, spotting a branch freshly broken and, not without some alarm, retrieving a scrap of cloth from a low-hanging tree limb. The cloth was definitely the color of Darcy's riding jacket, but a brief inspection of the area was enough to satisfy Bingley that his friend had not been unseated here, and he continued on his search.

So focused was he on the ground in front of him that he failed to notice the clearing ahead of him, and was momentarily blinded as he stepped from the cool shadows into full sunlight. He stared down, shading his eyes and blinking heavily several times, willing his eyes to acclimate to the sudden brightness. Freed of the confines of the woods, Apollo could have headed in any direction without impediment, and he would have to pay closer attention to the trail if he were to have any hope of success, but at least Darcy had not fallen victim to the low-hanging branches. Assuming, of course, that he had followed the trail correctly, and had not gotten himself lost.

Bingley shook his head sharply, forcibly silencing the part of his mind that incessantly whispered to him about the futility of his efforts. Finding his eyes no longer pained by the light, he finally looked up and took in his surroundings. It was a beautiful meadow, bordered on three sides by woods, and affording a lovely prospect on the forth of patchwork fields and flower-spotted meadows. If he had not been so preoccupied, he might have thought this a wonderful place to bring his betrothed for a picnic. That idea would have to wait for another opportunity to present itself, however, as some small motion on the opposite side of the clearing, just bordering the woods, drew his eye. Just like a non-descript cloud can transform instantly into the shape of a dog without changing in the least, the source of the motion that Bingley originally thought to be a branch stirred by an errant breeze resolved itself into the form of Darcy.

"Darcy! Thank God I have found you!" Bingley called, and started forward just as he realized that his friend was not alone, he bowed his greeting. "I see I am not the first to locate you. Miss Bennet, a pleasure to see you this morning."

At his first words two faces turned to him, and due to the combination of distance and the brightness of the day causing a slight glare, Bingley could not quite make out the expressions on their faces, and so he completely failed to see the renowned Darcy frown, paired most imposingly with the Darcy glare, the combination of which had frightened many a lesser man (and occasionally Lady Catherine) into compliance, or at the very least, silence. The terrifying expression was quickly hidden away; it would be entirely too suspicious to be angry with his rescuer. Still, he was too frustrated to completely put on the bland look he normally wore when he did not want people to know what was on his mind. He hoped Bingley would attribute the frustration to the misbehavior of his horse rather than suspecting its true cause. The hint of frustration was best he could manage, however. Trying to feign delight at his 'rescue' was quite beyond him when the only thing he wished was to be alone with _his Elizabeth_.

Elizabeth started at Bingley's voice, and made, unsuccessfully, to withdraw her hand from Darcy's. Never before could she have imagined being unhappy at the appearance of her future brother, but she found herself quite cheerfully wishing him miles away on a runaway horse of his own. Catching Darcy's fleeting scowl, she realized that his thoughts must be along a similar vein, and she squeezed the hand that had refused to release her own. This drew his eyes from Bingley, and the gentle smile she gave him elicited a corresponding softening in his own countenance.

The moment for declarations had passed, but Bingley was only halfway to them, and Darcy seized the shreds of the moment as best he could, returning the pressure on her hand and mouthing the words "I love you," before releasing her hand and turning back to address their fast-approaching guest. "Bingley, what kept you?" Darcy sought to divert Bingley's attention from the scene he had just interrupted. "And that is not the mount you started out on this morning. Did you return to Netherfield for tea before setting out again? Or perhaps you found yourself in need of a nap? What a fine thing for the host to abandon his guest in such a manner."

Bingley looked mildly affronted as he asserted that he had done no such thing, but that his original mount had come up lame. He was halfway through his lengthy explanation before he noticed the slight twitching at the corners of Darcy's mouth. He stopped midsentence and quirked an eyebrow at his friend. Darcy? In a teasing mood? Well, then who was he to disoblige?

"I say, Darcy, you are in uncommon good humor. Did getting thrown from Apollo knock you out of your brooding mood? Or should I credit another for this change?" Bingley's glance darted pointedly to Miss Elizabeth who had been highly amused by the interchange thus far, and his eyes widened slightly in wonder as he saw her smile for nearly the first time since her return from London. He filed this away as worthy of future thought, and continued, "I dare say Miss Elizabeth could charm the stripes off a tiger, and tease an angry wolf into playfulness."

Elizabeth laughed outright at this picture of herself, quite forgetting to be embarrassed. "You are very kind, sir, though I have no wish to try my hand at either task. I will settle for soothing recalcitrant horses that are trying to run away with their riders."

"Oh? So does Darcy owe his deliverance to you? And here I had hoped to be the dashing hero, but I arrive to find myself quite unnecessary as I have been supplanted most excellently by a beautiful heroine. Not that I suspect Darcy would mind the switch." Deciding from the way Darcy was uneasily shifting his weight that he had teased him quite enough, Bingley left off. "Well, I am heartily glad to find you uninjured Darcy. You are uninjured are you not?" his voice took on a worried edge and his eye was suddenly critical, as it occurred to him to wonder why his friend had not risen from his seat during their brief interview.

"I am fine, Bingley." He rose to his feet as if to prove his point, "Not even my pride is injured to any great degree. Thanks to Miss Elizabeth's quick thinking I was able to dismount before Apollo could succeed in unseating me himself." He was unable to stop his countenance from adopting a more tender aspect as he spoke of her, but his expression quickly turned to one of concern. "Actually, Miss Elizabeth has taken more harm than myself this day. Perhaps you can still play the hero after all, Bingley."

"Miss Bennet, you are injured?" Bingley was all concern.

"It is only a sprained ankle. I took a fall when Mr. Darcy's erstwhile mount decided he no longer desired our company."

"But you are bleeding," Bingley said, not a little alarmed.

Elizabeth followed Bingley's gaze to the stains on her gown. She had completely forgotten the injury to her hand when Apollo reared and tore the reins from her grasp. Her attention had been entirely on the sensations provoked by Darcy's caresses of her other hand. Now that it was recalled to her attention, the pain that had been forgotten returned, and she winced slightly as she extended her fingers, stretching the skin of her palm. "It is nothing too serious; just a scrape." She held her hand out palm up, offering the injury for inspection, and was not surprised to find it being closely, and carefully, inspected by Darcy.

Satisfied that she had at least taken no more serious harm, Darcy nodded and muttered "Apollo is indeed a wretched beast."

"Well," Bingley addressed his future sister, "you have said that you are no horsewoman, but perhaps in this case, and despite your recent experience with Apollo, you will consent to a short ride back to Longbourn." Elizabeth nodded her acquiescence. "Oh, but Darcy, you must return to Netherfield immediately. Miss Darcy is beside herself with worry over you; she was taken ill immediately after Apollo returned. Are you well enough to return on your own?"

"Yes, of course," Darcy said instantly consumed with worry for his sister, at the same time Elizabeth said, "No, he is not."

"What?" Bingley looked between them.

Darcy and Elizabeth's eyes locked, and Bingley was suddenly conscious that he was in the presence of the loudest silent argument he had never heard.

Darcy's eyes narrowed.

Elizabeth pursed her lips.

Darcy frowned.

Elizabeth crossed her arms across her chest.

Darcy sighed in exasperation.

Elizabeth smiled in triumph.

She turned her head slightly towards Mr. Bingley, not breaking eye contact with Darcy, "Mr. Bingley, perhaps you would be so kind as to escort us both to Netherfield. I am sure Georgiana could use a friend right now, and Mr. Darcy should not be unattended as he has just recovered from the dizzy spell that his horse's flight induced. I can send a note to Longbourn so that my family does not worry."

Realizing that his expression of shocked incredulity would soon be noticed, he quickly rubbed his hands across his face and decided that he would not try and understand what had just happened until later. This afternoon had certainly given him much to ponder. "Of course, Miss Bennet." He led Zephyr a bit closer, and indicated that Darcy should help her mount. Bingley might not understand what had passed between his two companions, but he had a sneaking suspicion that had he tried to offer to help Miss Bennet, Darcy might have tried to pierce him with more than just a glare.

Elizabeth was placed securely on Zephyr's back, though she did not look entirely happy about the situation, and the party began moving back towards Netherfield. After a few quick words to Elizabeth, Darcy joined Bingley at Apollo's head. "Your timing is atrocious, Bingley," he growled quietly.

"I had rather gathered that, old man," Bingley replied just as softly, but with less menace. "At least she is returning to Netherfield with us. I am sure I shall have some unexpected business that will need attending once you have seen to Miss Darcy."

Darcy actually grinned. "I may find it in my heart to forgive you if that is the case."

"May I ask you a question Darcy?"

"Of course."

"If my timing is as atrocious as you say it is, what in heaven's name are you doing still walking with _me_?"

* * *

The rest of the walk back to Netherfield was blessedly free of incident. Darcy returned to Elizabeth's side, though they did not dare begin the conversation they both most desired to have. Shortly after setting off, they encountered some of the search party. One man was sent to Longbourn to inform the Bennets of Elizabeth's ankle, and another was sent ahead back to Netherfield to ensure that Miss Darcy had the earliest possible notice of her brother's safety. The rest were set to recall the others from their search.

It was a strained, dusty, and tired trio that finally made its way up the drive at Netherfield Park. Despite his fatigue, Darcy insisted on carrying Miss Elizabeth inside, a gesture that surprised nobody except for the footman who had expected the task to fall to him. At her insistence, they went directly to the sitting room where Miss Darcy was being attended.

Of course, she was overjoyed to see her brother safe and even more so to see Lizzy nestled in his arms, especially once she understood that her friend suffered from nothing worse than a sprained ankle.

The apothecary had been called to attend Miss Darcy, and had stayed in case he was needed when Mr. Darcy returned, so it was but the work of a moment to examine Miss Elizabeth Bennet's ankle and declare it only a mild sprain.

Although Georgiana, as well as Mr. Bingley were inclined to give the lovers some privacy, their schemes were foiled by the arrival of a carriage bearing Mrs. Bennet and Miss Bennet. While the latter could have easily been persuaded to wander off with her bethrothed and Miss Darcy, Mrs. Bennet's presence prevented it. As soon as she was certain that Elizabeth had suffered no great injury, she began to scold her daughter for her wild behavior; she was too old to go traipsing about the countryside all morning, and how could she leave when there were wedding plans to be made. "I do apologize Mr. Bingley for my daughter's imposing on you in such a way. It was certainly very kind of you to take it upon yourself to see her well taken care of."

"Not at all, ma'am," Bingley replied courteously, as both Jane and Elizabeth blushed over their mother's speech.

"Indeed," Mr. Darcy added, cutting off Mrs. Bennet just before she was set to begin praising Mr. Bingley's kindness and generosity even more effusively, "I am greatly in her debt, as she received her injury while rendering me a great service."

Mrs. Bennet stood dumbstruck for a moment – a notable event in its own right – as she tried to understand what had just happened. She was saved from her confusion by Miss Darcy's happy effusions on what was sure to be her favorite topic of conversation for the next several days. "Oh, yes, it is true. He was out on a ride this morning when his horse spooked and got the bit between his teeth and…" she enthusiastically related the chief of the story to an astonished Mrs. Bennet, finishing with, "and I am ever so grateful to her."

"As are we all," added Bingley.

This effectively silenced Mrs. Bennet on the topic. She could not conceive of a way in which Elizabeth could be involved without somehow damaging her marriage prospects or otherwise embarrassing herself. Deprived of that avenue of discourse, she allowed Jane, Mr. Bingley and Miss Darcy to carry on a quiet conversation on their own for a few moments. Not generally one to be slow to notice potential suitors, her greater-than-normal confusion led her to completely miss the reassuring looks Darcy directed at Elizabeth, as well as the becoming blush that was their result.

The visit ended soon afterwards, and all the Bennets removed back to Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet's opinion of Darcy softened somewhat when he took it upon himself to give Bingley and Jane a few more moments privacy by carrying Elizabeth to the carriage himself.

* * *

That evening, Jane entered the bedchamber she shared with Elizabeth, and sat down next to her sister, who was steadfastly avoiding her gaze by occupying herself with a book. Gently, Jane reached out and drew the book from Elizabeth's hands. Devoid of any pretense, Elizabeth looked up at her closest sister, best friend, and most trusted confidante, biting her lip.

"Lizzy," Jane said softly, "what happened today? Something happened between you and Mr. Darcy, I know it did. Did he do something to upset you when you were alone? Please, tell me what it is that is distressing you."

"Oh, Jane," Elizabeth leaned into her sister's shoulder, laying her head on her shoulder. "I hardly know. I…I think he was about to propose, or maybe he did propose, but then Mr. Bingley came, and he said he loved me and…"

"Lizzy, slow down." Jane fixed on the strangest part of the jumble of information that had poured out of Elizabeth's mouth, from her point of view at least. "Mr. Bingley said he loved you?"

"No." Now Elizabeth was confused. "Mr. Darcy said he loved me, only he could not really say it because Mr. Bingley was there."

"How does one 'not really' say that they love you? Perhaps you had better start from the beginning and tell me everything."

So she did, with much prompting and interrupting from Jane. By the time they had finished speaking, the fire had died down, and the two were snuggled under counterpane.

"Lizzy, this is so sudden. Do you really love him quite well enough? Let me know every thing that I am to know, without delay. Will you tell me how long you have loved him?"

"It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began. But I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley."

"My dearest sister, now _be_ serious. Do you truly love him?"

"I can hardly say. It may yet all come to naught, Jane," and Elizabeth could not keep a hint of despondency from creeping into her tone.

Jane scolded Lizzy for her stupidity. "He loves you, Lizzy. The looks he gives you are alone enough to prove that. Now go to sleep. You will see; in the morning it will all be well."

* * *

As soon as the Bennets left Netherfield, Darcy found himself the center of much unwanted attention from both his sister and his friend. Unwilling to face them both at the same time, and not thinking that this would mean he would have to face them both separately and prolong his discomfort, he fled to the library, to be joined moments later by Bingley.

"Well?" was all Bingley said.

"Well what?" Darcy glared.

"Well, what exactly did I interrupt? By the look of that frown, it must have been a _very_ good conversation. So, I guessed at Pemberley that she no longer hated you, is it fair to say now that she holds you in tender regard? And you can stop scowling like that, you know. I am too happy to have seen you in a good mood for the first time in ages, and I will not leave off until I know why! Do you two have an understanding?"

Resigned to suffering the good-natured interrogation, Darcy answered, "I think we have an understanding of sorts, yes."

Bingley's jovial countenance was suddenly serious. "What do you mean an understanding of sorts? Miss Elizabeth is going to become my sister, and I will not allow you to…"

"Charles!" Darcy's use of his friend's Christian name halted the budding diatribe. "You know me better than that. After all, I went to school with George Wickham, and saw the results of his depravity. No, it is only that I did not quite get the chance to propose properly. And if you think I am going to say any more on this matter before it is properly settled, you are more a fool than that Collins fellow."

"As you say, Darcy. So, we will be in the saddle at ten tomorrow to call at Longbourn? We shall need to check on Miss Elizabeth's recovery, after all."

Darcy smiled his approval of the plan.

Georgiana was somewhat more effusive when given her chance. "Oh, how romantic. She rescued you, then you rescued her. Oh, tell me everything. May I go with you to call on her tomorrow? I want to welcome her properly as my future sister."

When Georgiana stopped to take a breath Darcy gave her a condensed version of his conversation with Elizabeth. "You are welcome to ride over with us in the morning, but I do not think I will be inclined to let you have any time alone with Elizabeth."

Georgiana agreed to the ride, and then took her leave, thinking to find Mr. Bingley. They would just have to make sure that tomorrow morning, Darcy and Elizabeth had a few quiet moments alone together. They had both waited too long for this happiness to be put off any longer.

Bingley was a daily caller at Longbourn, and having missed his daily visit the previous day, nobody was much surprised that he would arrive so early the next morning. That Mr. and Miss Darcy accompanied him was also not particularly strange, as they had been calling relatively regularly, so the only person flustered by their guests was Elizabeth. She did not know how she could act as if nothing had occurred, and thanks to her sprained ankle, the best chance of resolution – escaping for a turn about the gardens – was denied her.

She politely, and fairly composedly, greeted the guests, and she even managed to conceal her blush when after asking solicitously after her recovery, Mr. Darcy claimed the chair closest to hers. They spoke a bit on inconsequential matters, and then surrendered to the force of nature that was Mrs. Bennet when speaking of wedding plans. A few minutes of this was all it took before Elizabeth found herself gazing out the window and letting out a heartfelt sigh.

Darcy's voice interrupted her reverie. "It must be difficult to be denied your daily ramble, Miss Elizabeth."

"It is. I have been confined indoors too often of late for my health, and now that I am healthy I am unable to walk. It is trying indeed."

"I understand your frustration. Yesterday was the first time my jailer," and he nodded with an affectionate smile towards his sister, "permitted me out on my morning ride, and given what happened, I'm almost surprised she did not insist on taking the carriage this morning."

They shared a commiserating look.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance," Darcy said, his voice pitched low enough to not be easily understood. "Would your mother find it altogether scandalous if I were to offer to assist you out of doors? That bench," he looked out the window at the object in question, "looks to be in need of an occupant."

Elizabeth could not conceal the blush raised by the thought of being carried again by Mr. Darcy, and nodded. "Perhaps," she said, staying his immediate motion to rise, "it would raise fewer suspicions if Mr. Bingley or my sister were to accompany us."

"Or if they were the ones to suggest it?" Darcy offered. With a smile to Elizabeth, he caught Bingley's eye, and looked meaningfully out the window.

Bingley rose to the occasion admirably, inserting himself deftly into Mrs. Bennet's monologue and suggesting they all walk out. Mrs. Bennet declined the activity, and Miss Darcy, Kitty and Mary were too involved in a conversation about music and composers, but Jane professed a desire to go out.

"Miss Elizabeth," Darcy spoke up, "I know how you love the outdoors, and you must be terribly sad to be deprived of your usual activity. Would you permit me to assist you outside? I am sure we can find some suitable seat nearby."

Mrs. Bennet, as expected, negated the necessity, saying that "Lizzy had much better stay indoors," but when Darcy insisted, she began instead to praise his thoughtfulness and generosity. "It is so kind of you to indulge Lizzy. She is forever wandering off out of doors, and when not allowed to do so, she can have quite a temper. She has been too much ill of late, and Mr. Bennet has allowed her to run on in such a wild manner that…"

Darcy cut off this embarrassing speech, suppressing indignation that Elizabeth should be so little valued by her own mother, and finally the four made their escape into the shrubbery, Jane on Mr. Bingley's arm, and Elizabeth in Mr. Darcy's.

Bingley and Jane quickly wandered off out of sight, leaving Elizabeth and Darcy on the bench alone, though in full view of the house. The awkward pause lasted only a minute, before Darcy nervously cleared his throat. "I believe we have a conversation that needs to be finished."

Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of his situation, now forced herself to speak, "Yes. While I am grateful for Mr. Bingley's assistance yesterday, I could have wished he was not quite so timely."

Inspiration hit Darcy at the speed of anxiety, "Yes, Bingley's interruption has made me forget what we were talking of."

She gave him a blank look for a moment, before she recollected their conversation from the Netherfield ball. Taking up her part, she said archly "I do not think we were speaking at all. Mr. Bingley could not have interrupted any two people who had less to say for themselves. – We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine."

Darcy found himself enjoying their charade. "What think you of books?"

"Oh! no – I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings."

"I am sorry to hear it; but if that be the case, there can be no want of subject. – We may compare our opinions."

"No – I cannot talk of books when out of doors; my head is always full of something else."

"The _present _always occupies you in such scenes – does it?"

"Yes, always."

"May I ask if, on this one occasion, you would condescend to think on the future?"

She was enjoying the game as well, and kept playing the part even though they had run out of script; it was easier than dealing with the hundred butterflies that had suddenly taken up residence in her stomach. "Perhaps, sir, depening on your choice of topic."

"I see, I must chose exceedingly well, then."

"Of course. I do not expect you to speak at all unless you are confident of saying something that will amaze me, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb."

He pretended to think for a moment. "Very well. What think you of the topic of marriage."

"I believe that topic will suffice for now. Did you have a specific aspect of marriage that you wished to discuss, or should I philosophize on the nature of the institution in general?"

"No. That would not do. We are speaking in terms of the future after all, and your philosophy would almost certainly be grounded overmuch in the past. Allow me to pose you a specific question."

She nodded. "Yes, I suppose since you are the one primarily defining the limits of the conversation, I must let you pose the question." There was very little of archness left in her manner, and that vanished when she met his eyes and found herself trapped in their depths.

"Elizabeth, we have misunderstood each other so often, so I will be direct."

"That is certainly for the best. Anything less than direct speech could be thought of as disguise, and disguise of every sort is my abhorrence."

He wanted to take her hands in his. He wanted to kneel at her feet. And most of all he wanted to draw her into his arms and kiss her soundly. But they were still in view of the house, so he swallowed and took a deep breath as he mastered the impulses, hopefully for the last time. "Elizabeth." The way he spoke her name felt oddly intimate. "Dearest Elizabeth, will you do me the great honor of consenting to be my wife?"

"As you honored me with plain speech," she said in a voice choked with emotion, "I will do the same for you. Yes. Nothing in the world would make me happier than to have you as my husband."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both savoring the peace and joy that accompanied this long-awaited resolution. Finally, Elizabeth's spirits rising to playfulness once again she laughed. "I have not seen my sister or Mr. Bingley in some time. It is a pity I cannot walk, or I would suggest we go in search of them. I am eager to return Mr. Bingley's favor should he find himself in need of rescuing, or in the middle of an intimate moment that would certainly not benefit from an interruption."

"Soon, my love," Darcy replied, a glint of humor in his eyes. "As soon as you can walk, we will be sure to find a way to properly repay him."

Jane and Bingley peeked around the corner at that moment, just in time to witness the new couple dissolving into unruly laughter. With a satisfied smile to each other, they walked back the other way.

* * *

**AN: Yes, I'm still alive. Yes I'm still writing. It's just that I'm also writing other things for school and such.**

*** I do not know when people began using dogs to track other people, but it's the kind of thing I'd grouse about to myself if I was worried sick and trying to keep my cool while tracking somebody through the woods**


	19. Ever After

Darcy and Elizabeth agreed that Darcy would speak to Mr. Bennet immediately on returning to the house, but that the general announcement would be made the next day before he arrived, so that he did not have to bear the full brunt of Mrs. Bennet's reaction. If the disapprobation Mrs. Bennet had for her second daughter upon rejecting an acceptable suitor like Mr. Collins was any gauge, Elizabeth suspected that even at Netherfield Darcy might be able to hear the reaction to such an excellent match.

Darcy had argued, saying that he hoped she had enough faith in him that she need not fear his reaction. Elizabeth countered with worries of his health, insisting that he should not subject himself to unnecessary stress. Of course, Darcy rejected that notion, vehemently denying the need for such coddling. Finally, and only after darting a glance towards the house to be sure they were alone, Elizabeth began a perfect imitation of her mother, from a flawless mimicry of her voice, to the little fidgets and expressions she often displayed, "Oh, oh! Dear me! I need my salts. Hill! Where is Hill? I am sure I shall go distracted! Ten thousand a year, and possibly more. Oh what fine clothes and jewels you shall have Lizzy!" Darcy's ungentlemanly snort of laughter drew her up short.

"Very well my dear," he conceded when he had successfully suppressed his mirth at Elizabeth's antics. "If that is what I will be missing, I shall comply. It would hardly do to insult my future mother-in-law by collapsing in laughter."

Elizabeth admitted that laughter was not the reaction she would have anticipated from her fiancé, and found herself laughing along with him for a moment. "Well, now that is settled, shall we return to the house? I am both anxious to speak with your father, and anxious _about_ speaking to your father." His face took on a contemplative look. "I wonder who has the worst part: the suitor who is fearing denial, or the parent who is worrying about his child's future, and loathe to give her up. For all my fears of being turned away, I can imagine this sensation being dwarfed by what I will feel when some man comes to ask for Georgiana. The fear of agreeing to a union that brings only displeasure to both parties…." He trailed off.

"I should think that the suitor has more uncertainty tied to his position, though I would not exactly envy my father." She laid a hand on Darcy's arm. "Be gentle with him. I think he has some idea that I have changed my opinion of you since last year, but he may still be surprised at this."

"You and your father have always been close," he observed, and Elizabeth nodded. "I will endeavor to understand his feelings as well. It should not be too difficult, I need only think of what I would want to hear of the man asking for Georgiana's hand." Still, an apprehensive look creased his brow.

"Do not worry so, Mr. Darcy. He will not refuse you. He may sport with you a bit, and he may wish to speak with me, but I believe he trusts my judgment enough that he would not turn you away even were you completely unknown to him."

"Then let us return before I lose my courage." With only that for warning, he scooped Elizabeth up into his arms and strode towards the house. "Oh, and Elizabeth?"

"Yes."

"My name is _William._"

* * *

Darcy stood staring at the door to Mr. Bennet's bookroom and swallowed convulsively, trying to calm his racing heart. The hard part was supposed to be over, wasn't it? He had mended his character, and earned the love of the most wonderful woman he had ever known. He took another deep breath and swallowed again. What was there to be nervous about? The man was clever, to be sure, and directed his caustic wit towards all of his acquaintance, but was not Elizabeth worth it. It was not as if his past behaviors did not merit a bit of teasing, Elizabeth herself had done more than her share, it was one of the first things that drew him to her.

With one more deep breath, he raised his hand to knock on the door, only to have it swing open before he made contact. He looked up in astonishment and saw only the retreating back of Mr. Bennet moving back to his desk. "Well," he said in a dry tone, "you have been standing out there for at least five minutes, are you coming in or not?"

Darcy blinked in surprise, then shook his head at his own foolishness, and entered, closing the door behind him.

"And are you recovered from your wild ride yesterday, sir?"

"Completely so, I believe."

"Good, good. So what brings you to my sanctuary on this fine day? Have you had enough of the feminine sensibilities – or rather lack of sense – in the drawing room? I am sure we can come up with some more interesting topics than ribbons and lace to discuss over a game of chess or backgammon." Mr. Bennet's eyes narrowed slightly, and Darcy noticed a glint in them reminiscent of the look Elizabeth got right before she said something sure to unsettle him. "Or perhaps you are finally here to speak to me about your courtship of my second daughter."

Darcy just managed to keep his mouth from dropping open, thanks to years of practice at not betraying emotions in the drawing rooms of London. Even in his confusion, however, he did not miss the amusement in Mr. Bennet's eyes.

"Come, man, did you think I would not notice?"

"What was there to notice, sir? We have barely spoken to each other in the whole time I have been here."

"Yet you spoke to every body else," Mr. Bennet said pointedly. "Nobody is that awkward without reason, and it could not be merely anger as it affected you both the same way. Had Elizabeth been angry with you, she would not have been silent, but would have let you know."

"I believe I am well aware of that fact." Darcy said with a rueful smile.

"Oh? Has she unleashed her tongue on you already? And you are still in love with her? Excellent. I would not want that particular revelation to come after the wedding. Such a feisty temper would put most men off. Now I think you have a question to ask of me. Am I to condone an official courtship or a wedding?"

Darcy was nonplussed. He could never have imagined the interview playing out in this fashion. Finally gathering his wits together he replied, spitting out the formal request as if it could restore some normality to the conversation, "I have come to ask your permission to wed Miss Elizabeth. I love her dearly, and despite my many failings – which she has never scrupled to point out to me – she has consented to be my wife."

Meanwhile, Mr. Bennet had walked to a table against the wall and poured out two glasses of port. He now returned and held one out to Darcy. "There, now, that was not so very difficult was it?" Darcy took the proffered drink, and sipped it slowly, eying the enigmatic man in front of him, wondering if that was all the answer he was to expect. Mr. Bennet lifted his glass in a salute, "To your future wedded bliss, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy raised his glass in acknowledgment, and finally relaxed, letting a content smile suffuse his features.

* * *

The next morning, at Elizabeth's request, Jane brought Mrs. Bennet into their room so that Elizabeth could deliver her news with as much privacy as allowed by the thin walls of Longbourn. Her reaction was much as Elizabeth expected; on first hearing the news Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, and unable to utter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes that she could comprehend what she heard; though not in general backward to credit what was for the advantage of her family, or that came in the shape of a lover to any of them. She began at length to recover, to fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder and bless herself.

"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it! And is it really true? Oh! my sweetest Lizzy! how rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! Jane's is nothing to it -- nothing at all. I am so pleased -- so happy. Such a charming man! – so handsome! so tall! – Oh, my dear Lizzy! pray apologize for my having disliked him so much before. I hope he will overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in town! Every thing that is charming! Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will become of me. I shall go distracted."

This was enough to prove that her approbation need not be doubted: and Elizabeth, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by her family, was relieved when her mother soon went away. But before she had been three minutes alone in her room, her mother returned.

"My dearest child," she cried, "I can think of nothing else! Ten thousand a year, and very likely more! 'Tis as good as a Lord! And a special license. You must and shall be married by a special license. But my dearest love, tell me what dish Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of, that I may have it tonight."

This was a sad omen of what her mother's behavior to the gentleman himself might be; and Elizabeth found that, though in the certain possession of his warmest affection, and secure of her relations' consent, there was still something to be wished for. But the day passed off much better than she expected; for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood in such awe of her intended son-in-law that she ventured not to speak to him, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention, or mark her deference for his opinion.

Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking pains to get acquainted with him; and Mr. Bennet soon assured her that he was rising every hour in his esteem.

* * *

It was soon decided between the two couples that they would have a double wedding, and except in the matter of their trousseaus, the ladies left Mrs. Bennet to the planning. Mrs. Bennet may have been extraordinarily silly when it came to many things, but she knew how to set a good table, and this extended to wedding breakfasts. If her taste in decoration was somewhat more elaborate than any of the concerned parties would have chosen on their own, it was agreed that it was a small price to pay. By saying that they could not possibly trust anyone else with the preparations in Hertfordshire, the ladies were able to convince their mother that Mrs. Gardiner was sufficient for guiding them in picking out their wedding clothes – with ample advice on the best warehouses, of course.

To the joy of all, the two months before the wedding passed with only minor impediments. Angry, threatening letters from Lady Catherine was received by Darcy, Mr. Bennet, and eventually Elizabeth. Mr. Collins added his sycophantic voice to the fray with a second letter to Mr. Bennet echoing his patroness's feelings about the match. Charlotte, through her younger sister, sent a note to Elizabeth expressing her joy at the match. The only real source of displeasure was having to occasionally listen to Mrs. Bennet bemoaning the fact that her dear Mr. and Mrs. Wickham could not come down from Newcastle for the wedding, but if Elizabeth and Darcy tended to exchange dark looks, or roll their eyes at each other, or even leave the room when that subject was broached, everybody who noticed understood, and Mrs. Bennet never noticed.

* * *

The day of the wedding came, and all of Meryton turned out to witness the momentous occasion. Clearly, there was little intention of speaking of anything else for the next month, at least on the part of the women. The grooms were quickly declared dashing, and the brides' dresses declared the height of fashion and taste. Every detail was memorized for later discussion. The looks of love passing between the two couples could have lit the church, and more than one person was embarrassed by the earnestness of tone as the young people spoke their vows. Somehow, seeing such intense emotions freely displayed made it as though attending this highly public event was a gross invasion of privacy.

The happy couples mounted their respective carriages and drove towards Longbourn and the wedding breakfast. Darcy steeled himself to bear with the necessary socialization. Soon enough he would find himself back in his own home with his _wife_ and with no need to leave the house for at least two weeks. Happily, he thought he might not even put the knocker on the door of his townhouse at all. His silly grin prompted Elizabeth to ask of what he was thinking. "Of our future, my love. My wife," said he, and punctuated his declaration with a very thorough kiss.

Later, he thought, he should have realized that it had been too easy. Too perfect. No man can claim such a perfect moment without the universe extracting some sort of price for it. That price was waiting outside Longbourn as their carriage pulled into the drive.

Lydia Wickham was standing next to her mother, and speaking animatedly to Jane and Charles Bingley. They climbed down from their carriage in time to hear the following speech: "As you know, with poor Wickham on the peninsula, I could not hope to come, but I did not want to miss your wedding day. After all, Jane, you must have so much you want to ask of me, since I am experienced in this matters, after all." Jane and Charles flushed brightly at this, but Lydia was Lydia and did not take notice of such things. "And, as you see, it turned out well enough, though it is shocking that my poor George should have been injured in such a way. The surgeon says he may never be fit for duty, again. I do not know how we are to live if you do not help us brother," Lydia simpered and batted her eyelashes at Bingley, who actually glowered at her. Elizabeth saw this and nudged Darcy and whispered to him, "Charles has been spending altogether too much time around you, my dear, if he is picking up your expressions."

Darcy chuckled, but was rather too tense for a true laugh. Mrs. Wickham being here could only presage something that he would rather not deal with.

"Lizzy! There you are!" Lydia had noticed them. "Your are dressed very well for a bridesmaid." She covetously eyed the garment while Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged a startled look.

"Whatever do you mean, Lydia? Surely Mama told you that I was married today."

"Lord, what a joke that would be! Married. And who would have you now that you have turned down Mr. Collins, and I have snagged my dear George? You should come North with us, then I can introduce you to all the officers."

Darcy's glower might have stopped a stampeding elephant, but had little effect on a thoughtless sixteen year-old girl full of her own importance. "I would, Mrs. Wickham. Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Mrs. Darcy."

While Darcy had focused almost entirely on the insult to his wife, Elizabeth had picked up on a much more pertinent fact. "Us? Mr. Wickham is _here_?"

"Of course, have you not been listening to a word I have said?" she complained, as she looked back and forth between the Darcys with astonishment. "Dear George was injured in battle, a bullet through the shoulder. He was sent home to recover, and I thought it would be a wonderful scheme to come while he recovered. We set off as soon as the physician said he could travel."

Jane and Bingley exchanged worried looks with each other, and decided it was time to intervene in the conversation. Jane moved quickly to Elizabeth's left side, and Bingley to Darcy's right, and they urged them to go inside and greet the guests. Lydia, mindless of the tension her statement had created, shrugged her shoulders and flounced off to speak with Kitty, determined to make her envious by regaling her with tales of married life.

Bingley was speaking to Darcy in a low but urgent voice that could only be heard by their small party. "Now is not the time, old man. It is your wedding day, do not do anything foolish."

"Elizabeth, do not worry," Jane's tone was a feminine version of Bingley's, "Lydia says he is still weak, and is likely to rest in their room for the rest of the day. You will not have to see him. Right now we have guests to attend to."

By unspoken consent, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy assumed expressions appropriate to newlyweds, and began to circulate amongst their well-wishers. They stole a few quiet moments together, but that was no surprise to anybody. What would have been a surprise was the topic of their conversations.

Two hours later, George Wickham was roused by a knock on his door, and Mrs. Hill entered bearing a tea tray and assorted delicacies selected from the fare being offered below. Behind the housekeeper, he saw Miss Elizabeth, who boldly entered his room and allowed Mrs. Hill to leave them alone, though the door was left slightly ajar. "I thought you would like to partake of the wedding breakfast, seeing as you are unable to attend." As she spoke she poured him a cup of tea and handed it to him. "Your arrival was a complete surprise, we all believed you to be fighting abroad."

"Miss Bennet, you are too kind," he accepted the tea and took a sip. "Mrs. Wickham assured me that it would not be an imposition, and as you see, I was in no condition to send word myself," he ducked his chin slightly, indicating the sling that bound his right arm tightly to him, before taking another sip of his drink.

"So I see, Mr. Wickham." She smiled disarmingly. "I do hope you are enjoying your tea. My husband assures me that it is a favorite blend of yours."

Wickham looked at her, confused, "Your husband? I have not – that is, congratulations Mrs. …?"

"Darcy," came a voice from the doorway. All the blood drained from Wickham's face, as he looked between the woman next to him – now sporting a rather wicked grin – his half-empty teacup, and the dead man who had just addressed him. The cup dropped from his hand spilling its contents across the bedclothes, and his mouth worked silently, opening and closing like a beached fish.

"Oh, Mr. Wickham, you have spilled your tea. Let me pour you a fresh cup," Elizabeth said with mock solicitousness, and suited actions to words. "Come, drink, you look as though you have seen a ghost."

"I—you—how?" Wickham gasped, desperately trying to use his good arm to maneuver himself away from the suspect drink.

"Me, yes. And the 'how' is irrelevant. All that is important to know is that you have failed. I suggest you return to your regiment as soon as possible, and maybe if you ingratiate yourself to your superiors, you may be allowed to stay on in some clerical position or other. You will receive no more help from me or _any_ of my family. And if I ever see you again, you will not live to regret it."

With that, Darcy clapped Wickham heartily on his injured shoulder, drained the teacup that Elizabeth was still holding, helped his wife from her chair, and departed the room without a backward glance leaving a very wet Wickham writhing in pain.

The newlyweds headed to Mr. Bennet's bookroom. Elizabeth quickly locked the door behind them while Darcy walked straight to a couch and collapsed into it, putting his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands. Elizabeth joined him, leaning into his now-shaking shoulders.

"God help me," Darcy choked out, "but that was possibly the most fun I have had in years!" and he let lose the laugh that had been threatening since he saw that the spilled tea was not the only liquid spreading across Wickham's bed. Elizabeth's laughter was much quieter, but had completely robbed her of speech. She could only concur by squeezing Darcy's arm before doubling over in a new fit of giggles. By the time they had composed themselves, it was time to say their goodbyes. Soon, the couple was on their way to London. Alone in their carriage their laughter was interspersed with tender kisses and words of love, and the miles passed by more quickly than either could have anticipated.

"Part of me still wishes I had called him out," Darcy said in a moment of seriousness.

"No that would not do at all, William," Elizabeth returned with equal solemnity of voice, but a twinkle in her eye. "Watching my husband prepare for a duel in the morning was not how I envisioned spending my wedding night."

Even in the fading twilight, Elizabeth could see Darcy's pupils dilating, as he drew a deep breath, nostrils flaring. "You will drive me to Bedlam with talk like that, Mrs. Darcy."

"Then it is a good thing we are on our way to town."

He silenced her impertinence with a kiss, and they continued so for several minutes before separating.

"Besides, I thought it best to show him a bit of mercy. We owe him a great deal." Elizabeth picked up their earlier conversation as if there had been no interruption.

"By what twisted use of logic do you arrive at that conclusion?" Darcy asked, surprised and curious.

"If not for his actions, we might never have found a way past our own stubbornness. Seeing you so near death made me finally face my own feelings and realize how devastated I would be to lose you. Dare I say that your brush with death made you somewhat less likely to hesitate on matters of true importance."

"Perhaps," he admitted grudgingly, "though I would have wished for a more gentle hand to guide the teaching."

"Ah, but that would never have worked for two obstinate, headstrong people such as ourselves. No, we got just what we needed."

"Again, perhaps. Right now, however, I am more inclined to agree with your first statement. These are not the thoughts that I wish to entertain on my wedding night."

"Good, you are learning some of my philosophy."

"Oh?" he raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Yes. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."

"Mmmm, yes, pleasurable remembrances. I think we had best get to work on creating some more of those, Mrs. Darcy."

"As you wish, William."

Nothing more was said on the entire journey to Darcy House, and the afternoon and night were the origin of many, many pleasing memories that both treasured throughout their lives.

THE END

**AN: OK, so I have just learned something. Ending a story is way harder than I thought. How to wrap everything up without getting too drawn out and boring? Did I miss anything important that you would have liked to see resolved?**

**I sort of wanted to kill Wickham in some way or another, but I didn't want to turn any of my characters into murderers. Plus I rather liked the humiliation scene. At one point I was going to have him choke on a bite of food when Darcy walked into the room….but a death on a wedding day was too morbid for me. Anyway. I hope you enjoyed.**

**Rotten tomatoes and helpful criticism are both welcome (though please go easy on the torches and pitchforks….)**


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